cellini's Diaryland Diary

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A Very Involved Recipe

Wow, did I ever get a lot of work done this past weekend. About 14 hours in total, plus 2 hours on Friday night. I got the entire bottom course of sheathing installed.

It was on the chilly side, especially on Sunday. When I went outside to start work at a bit before 11 am, it was hailing. This was bizarre because the temperature was in the low fifties and there was no thunderstorm in the vicinity. The pellets of ice were very small and I did not feel them hitting me. Mostly I heard them. They made a low hissing noise that surrounded me as I worked.

I have done no math to add them all up, but I would estimate that I pounded around a thousand nails over the past 2 days. On Saturday I had to leave off at around 2:30 to go to a Writers Workshop alumni event. I did not really want to go. Which is to say that I did not have a problem with being at the event so much as with halting my labor. It meant that I would not be nearly so tired or hungry at the end of the day, having had a rest of several hours right in the middle like that.

Sunday made up for it. I worked 8 hours straight with only a single break of 15 minutes. I almost left the last little section of 18 inches that needed to be sheathed. It was getting dark and I thought about all of the trouble of setting the big piece of plywood on top of saw horses or the workbench and then measuring twice, drawing the straight line for the cut with a 4 foot level as a guide and then ripping the plywood apart with a circular saw. And then there would be the work of clamping the sheathing in place, climbing up and down from the platform 4 feet off the ground. Followed by hammering a nail every 6 inches around the edges and every 12 inches along studs through the interior of the panel. Only an 18 inch wide section of wall. But so very much work when I was cold and hungry and tired and my arm hurt. But I decided that I could not possibly enjoy myself while drinking a beer and eating a pint of potato salad straight from the plastic container while knowing that this little 18 inch section had been left undone.

So I applied myself and I did the work to finish it before going inside to stuff my face and fall half asleep in the bath tub. This hour of repose at the end of the day is justification enough for the 8 hours of work which enable it. I have said it before and I'll say it again; one does not fully appreciate food without consuming it under these circumstances. I've heard of people trying to re-create the meal of canned spaghetti and baked beans that Nick eats in Hemingway's 'In Our Time.' Invariably, they are disappointed. It sounded so good in the book and then just fell short in someone's kitchen. What these readers are leaving out of the recipe is jumping off of a moving train after not having eaten for hours, then hiking miles through the woods with only a general idea of where they are going on a more or less empty stomach, doing all of the work to set up camp and make a fire and THEN cooking up the canned spaghetti and baked beans. Trust me; if you follow the entire recipe, starting with jumping off the moving train, the food will be 100 times better.

Eventually, the body becomes what is required of it. This is happening. I am much stronger today than I was a month ago. My right bicep bulges larger than my left on account of all the hammering. I did not look the slightest bit fat before, but I must have lost something somewhere. A few years ago I was given a pair of Carhardt work pants by my brother and his wife for Christmas. They were a size 32 waist, which I had not worn since high school. I thanked them and put the pants away in a bottom drawer where they sat until a few weeks ago. I think I'd intended to give them away to Good Will or something but never got around to it. Those pants fit me now. Quite comfortably. I wonder if this means my 34s and 35s will all have to be put away soon?

Each weekend I manage to get another touch of sunburn. You'd think that I would have just tanned enough by now that it wouldn't be happening.

I'm finally getting some proper callouses on my hands where I need them. My hands are scratched and riddled with splinter holes. My right hand is bearing up rather well, all things considered. Between the tennis elbow, the carpal tunnel syndrome and the problems with that bone at the base of my thumb that I broke a few years ago, it's a miracle that I can do anything with this hand at all. People warn me that I should stop this because I am at risk of ruining it. Well, the only thing that I do regularly with my hands that requires high dexterity is building. Building and butchering, which places similar demands on all 3 of those weak points. As far as I'm concerned, building things and creating food ARE the purpose of my right hand. To save the health of the hand and forearm by refraining from those activities would defeat the purpose of the hand in the first place. Whatever happens, happens. Worst case scenario is that I'll need surgery by the end of the year. Fine.

I have a good, respectable white collar job which requires the use of my broad knowledge of the field and my general ability to reason. I am paid largely for the use of my brain. However, if construction paid as much as my regular job, I think that I would seriously consider switching careers. It is very satisfying.

10:41 - 2008-03-31

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