Who's Your Sub?

There’s a guy downstairs making noise and I hope he never leaves.  He comes over when it’s not raining and makes the downstairs dungeon a little better, a little closer to looking like part of the house.  For three years it’s been squirrel and rat shelter.  The mortgage includes the rodent habitat; it’s time for some reclamation.

Kevin has other outside carpentry jobs when the sun shines.  You might think I’d pray for rain but that’s something you can’t do if you’ve lived through at least one Oregon winter.  He can take as long as he wants; he’s making more progress than we did in the past three and a half years.

I like hearing him work downstairs.  I like going down there when he leaves and smelling the effects of his work.  He textured today so there’s lots to fill my nose and lungs and eyes.  I usually don’t bug him when he’s working, but today I did.  He and his wife are multiple-bumper-stickered Yankee fans with Red Sox relatives. 

“We’ve avoided the phone calls so far,” Kevin says.  “After the Yankees won the first three games, I was tempted to call but I didn’t want to rub it in.  Now the Red Sox have won three games.  I’m glad I didn’t.  If the Red Sox win tonight, Kristine and I are going to commit joint suicide.”

My neighbors in the cul don’t talk about things beyond the school district.  They complain about town politics, not knowing I’m canceling their votes.  They talk to themselves out in their yard not knowing I’m listening.  Their kids play outside making constant random noise.  It’s not the same.

We go out with Kevin and his wife Kristine when one of us finds a new place to go.  We can’t find good places by our house anymore.  By our house people talk about their European trips in loud, bragging voices.  We have to look at the prices before we order.  We get insecure knowing we’re the only people not going home to a McMansion.

This time they found a place near their house, Amnesia Brewing.  “The beer’s great,” Kevin said.  “But you have to go outside to get your ketchup.  It’s that kind of place.”

It was great.  There aren’t converted warehouses in our little bedroom community.  If you order off the grill around here, you’re not sure if there’s a real grill or a George Forman grill.  At this place, there’s definitely a grill.  It’s right out front where tasteful lighting and landscaping would be if this were closer to my home.

We stopped by Kevin and Kristine’s before going home.  I notice all their tasteful landscaping.  It’s almost as nice to see someone else’s house progress as it is seeing your own. 

“You’ve done a lot of work.”

“No, we haven’t,” Kristine says.  “We’re not letting you in to prove it, either.”

“It’s the worst house we’ve ever owned,” Kevin said, “although it’s the only one.”

“It’s the most interesting house of all our friends,” I said.  “They have new houses.”

“It’s like polishing a turd, though,” Kristine said.  “It’ll never be done.”

“It’s like trying to turn chicken shit into chicken salad,” Kevin added.

“We got burned out by two years of foundation work,” I said.  “If you don’t get it done within two years, you’ve lost momentum.”

“For us, it was the basement,” Kristine said.  “We dug out whole rooms and we had a time limit so we had to work all day then dig all night.” 

“One thing though,” Kevin said.  “When you start underground, all the other jobs are easier.  ‘At least I can stand up,’ you say to yourself.  ‘At least I can stretch out.’”

“During that month and a half, we were lucky to get four hours of sleep.”

“I got a little more,” Kevin said.  “I’d fall asleep standing up.  I’d fall asleep on my lunch break.  I was so tired working construction all day then digging out the basement all night.  I’m still burned out.”

“Is that why you didn’t do anything today?” Kristine said.

“I don’t wake up in the zone, like she does.”

“I wake up thinking, ‘I’m going to call this person, invoice that job, finish that section, all before I have my coffee.”

“I’m not like my Dad,” Kevin said.  “He oversimplifies.  He says, ‘Plumbing’s easy: just remember shit floats.  Landscaping’s easy: green side up.’  He makes things sound too easy so everything takes too long.”

“When you get older, everything takes longer,” I said.  “But you can think of witty ways to justify it.”

Kristine’s limping, I notice.  “I spent all day getting the new Tae Kwon Do studio ready to paint,” she says.  “We didn’t know there’d be shelves.  We thought, ‘how are we going to get these shelves down?  Nobody brought a crowbar. 

“We got the same idea at the same time and front-kicked them down.  The last one, I kicked the metal brace holding them up.  I didn’t want anyone thinking I was a wussy so I didn’t say anything.  My toe hurts like hell now, though.”

We didn’t talk about baseball at all that night.  I’ll bet Kristine will be hurting tomorrow and more than just her toe.  It’s the fifth inning and the Yankees are down 8 to 1.  If this continues, I’m guessing it’ll be quiet downstairs tomorrow even if it’s raining.   

He can take all the mental health days he wants as long as he and Kristine don’t follow through on their threat.  We need to know where the cool pubs are.  We need to know someone takes as long as we do on fixing up their house.  We need noise downstairs. 

Is there such thing as second-hand depression? 

A little help? [] 8:02:58 PM