Still raining, still waiting for a builder

When will it not look like this? 

The rain makes anything but what I'd much rather not do, if not impossible, extremely unpleasant. It has rained for three weeks, allowing for some hours of waiting for it to start again. Because it will. Planting means working in the mud. Riding means wearing my waterproof duster and maybe getting struck by lightning. There hasn't been a lot of that, but you never know. My feet disappear in the soaking wet grass and clover of the unmowed lawn. I do that any time I possibly can.

Being faced with what is left that I can (but that I'd rather not) do and actively not doing it, is a shock to my notion of myself as an Extremely Productive Person, acquired with pride and a sense of accomplishment during the Covid confinement. Having nothing else to do while asked to remain home, I did what needed to be done around the house and garden, and I learned to stack, becoming a pro at whizzing from task to task, spotting ones I could do along the way, and be done with, too! It was exhilarating! I listened to podcasts and GOT THINGS DONE! Since I couldn't go see my horse, I was granted the time to focus on the plans and the garden which was actually a huge relief. I lived in a suspended, magical state of serenity, everything ending with joyful exclamation points. 

Also, I sent off the plans for the renovation to the building department in July of 2020! How liberating! And exciting!

More accurately, the getting things done started when I cut my hand open and blood swore to myself during vacation 2019 that WHEN I GOT BACK, I WOULD DO THE PLANS FOR THE RENOVATION. Maybe it was 2018. It was too long ago for a job still not even started. My laptop got old and began to die along the way. 

In 2021, people have gone from asking when it will be done to asking when it will start, and (worse) why it hasn't started. 

"This is the longest renovation in history," someone recently said.

"It hasn't begun, actually." The look of surprise and confusion is difficult to face, and the reasons for it still harder. You know the question coming and think, drawing a deep breath (closer to a sigh), Do you want the long version, or no answer at all, because there is only a long one?

I am happier to to give none. Happier yet not to be asked. Every time one of my husband's kids or family members ask him in my presence, from interest or just to make conversation, and I hear him begin, my heart starts to race. I beg him with frantic, angry gestures to CHANGE. THE. SUBJECT. 

I have lost sleep, and I have learned to live with it, but it has to start SO THAT IT CAN END. Actually finding a builder and tradespersons who will provide an estimate, much less SHOW UP, is not a task that can be stacked and for which I can give myself rows of mental gold stars and endorphin rushes. There are opposing wills and interests, and it has been a very bad lousy year for building. 

The one person I know who GETS BUILDING THINGS GOING is having a hard time. He asked about the work on our house the other evening, and I gave him the full version. He told me that he has made calls to various tradespersons, who said they'd come to make an estimate, and then never return any subsequent calls. God knows if that was helpful to hear or not. At least I am not the only one. I was starting to think it was me. 

One electrician came, said he would return and spend a couple hours assessing the work, and then prepare the estimate. He could start in the summer. He would only be taking a few days off, here and there. He did return the next week and spend a couple hours looking at every little thing. That was April 30. APRIL. I have not, however, seen an estimate, but he did follow me on Instagram. I didn't bother following up. He can look at photos of my horse and me, my garden and my animals, and maybe watch the work get done. Eventually. 

Not quite the same thing, but two guys delivered our firewood for someone we know, who has done it for years. It came in 6 big bags, lifted off the truck with a crane. Pierrot had always tossed it off the back of his fourgonnette, one log at a time. Once, he ran the open door into something and wrenched it a bit. I felt kind of badly, even though I hadn't done it. It was here, unloading our wood. The young guy was the son of a neighbor, who is a friend of Pierrot's and his wife's. He said I could buy the big bags for 10€ apiece, or he'd come pick them up when I had finished unloading the wood. I said I didn't really need 6 enormous bags, and I'd send him a message when I had emptied them. I hurried, working to get it done before the rain was expected to settle in, and in case he needed them. That was June 23. The bags are still there. No word from him. 

The builder who was supposed to do the first project I had estimated, and for which we were THAT CLOSE to having the permit when I pulled the plug in October 2020 (ok, that part of any delay is my own fault), said to send him the plans for the revised project. That was May 3. 

May 19, I emailed to be the squeaky wheel. 

May 20, he replied to say that he had received the drawings from May 3, and to propose that we proceed as we had for the first project. They could begin construction at the end of the year, but if the roof of the building in question got worse before then, they would come and put up a tarp on a frame. Demand being what it is, he would only be able to get to the new estimate in about 10 days. OK. I was good with that. 

June 28, growing impatient, I sent a message.

July 8, getting worried, I sent another message. 

An hour and a half later, he replied. He was sorry. He had completely forgotten to reply to my previous message. Would I accept his apology, please? I was to note that he had decided to end his collaboration with the construction company in question. Perhaps I would be interested in contacting another company? Depending on when I wished to begin the work, he could suggest someone, but given their experience and the current demand, they would be booked for a while out; depending on the date I wished for, they could (or would not) offer an estimate and a start to the work. Best wishes. 

He forgot to tell me that he had stopped. May 20, we're good. July 8, he has ended his collaboration. What about the company? Was it shuttering? I had just seen their sign up on a really nice renovation project for a super interesting Victorian house on the Seine in a village Monet painted from a stool from our side of the Seine. How wonderful was that?! Why couldn't he just have someone else from the that company contact me? (EXPLETIVE!) I replied to say I was bien triste to hear all that, and my husband would be very déçu, but please do send the name of anyone he would recommend. Of course we wanted to start as soon as possible, but we also want a trustworthy and experienced builder. 

He has not replied.

WHAT IS THIS? HOW HARD IS IT? 

I couldn't tell my husband (I have gotten very good at dissimulating and keeping things to myself).

A couple days before, over dinner in Champagne, I was telling an old friend from the States, who had just asked about our house, about our trials and frustration. Coming from a place where people actually show up, and perfectly convinced that I was being dramatic, she said "Oh, you'll find someone!" in that tone that suggests the end of a subject of conversation. Feeling slightly admonished for my negativity and lack of brightness, I decided it was better not to insist on the bleakness of it all. That's no fun! Pour another flute!

SO, after reviewing what was left of my options (that took about 1 minute and 23 seconds), I sent sent a message to the guy who had decided that first project was more than he wanted to do. That was Friday. Sunday evening, a message popped up on my phone. He'd be away until the 20th, but please feel free to call him to set up a time to meet to discuss our futur projets. Hosannah! 

DARE. I. HOPE? And when do I let my husband in on all this? 

Right now, it's raining so hard that there might only be a pile of rubble from the collapsed roof to cart away before the work begins. The birds have made their nests in the garden (and in the decomposing eaves of that building) for years from the bright blue tarp that is now in tatters. I am so sick of seeing it. Roofing tiles lie on the floor, covered in sodden sheetrock and polystyrene. If the seagrass flooring wasn't really intended for the bath, it absolutely wasn't intended to hold up to years of rain, and it has joined in the decay.

I could compost it. That's an idea.

Actually, nearly the whole thing. Make it useful in its afterlife. It's already more than halfway there.

...

Rain, rain

The rain continues to fall. It has rained most of June and now most of July, too. We're not at the midpoint, though, so there is still hope for a July that was mostly summery. Yesterday, in a humid and buggy interlude, I was able to weed the first bed and prepare to add more planting soil and manure before planting. 

The watering can is superfluous. It was necessary yesterday, when the soil in the pots the plants came in was dry as a bone, somehow. I had watered them all the day before. Not very well, I guess. 

The other day, I posted a photo on Facebook of my horse walking back out into his field to join his friends, and I thought nothing more of it. Not until, that is, a friend in California asked if the turn-out fields are irrigated. I stared at the photo for awhile, also wondering if it really had enough interest to even be there, let alone as my cover photo; I was going to tell about putting the fly sheet on poor Qalypso, and thought better of it. Who cared? Then, I saw it: the green. Green grass all around the group of horses. I forgot the Pacific Northwest and NoCal are crisp and cooked right through, while we need shoes and a sweater, and a hood or an umbrella. Or, just to stay inside. 

It's depressing. Some are melting, practically on fire, except there has to be so little left to actually burn after the last years' fires, while others are wading to get out of the subway, and my plants sit and wait. Some things I will do in the rain, like prune the edges. Planting is not one of them. 

It's also depressing because while a year and a half ago, we were waiting for an estimate, and a few months ago decided to withdraw the building permit application and change the project, we were now waiting for the revised estimate, in no need of a building permit, and waiting for the work to begin at the end of this year, but now we are back to square one, with seemingly no place to go. The builder "forgot" to tell me that he had left the construction business in the few short weeks (endlessly long to me) since his last communication May 20. 

He offered to recommend someone, but it would depend on when we wanted to start because his experience means he is "very much in demand". Experience or not, everyone seems to be "very much in demand", and nobody is able to come do the work. I didn't tell him that, in case he told someone else, and they raise their prices as a result, except that I suspect they know this. 

I haven't told my husband. I know what he will say, and I really don't need to hear it. It plays nonstop in my head already. Sometimes it's really hard to maintain the good humor and optimism. 

It's depressing.

....

The best-laid plans

 

Unplanted recent acquisitions

When will I learn? 

I held firm every time I went to my favorite garden stores, buying only and exactly what I needed, as much as I longed for some of the plants presenting their glorious flowers to me. Things I had always wanted to plant and told myself to wait until I was ready. Until the time was right. Until I had a fairly unshakable sense that I knew enough about what I was doing planning a "mixed rose border" to do such a thing. Make no obvious and glaring errors, and people can still believe you do know what you are doing. Make them, and it's Game Over. You are unmasked for the amateur with the sadly limited natural talent that you are. 

And then I cracked, and I bought everything. Everything I could fit onto a single cart, crowding them all together and using every possible bit of it. I did this despite a observing a man, who was wandering about, gazing sadly at the plants, and just barely repressing long sighs, and who finally looked up at me and said, "They are all in such sad condition. It's late in the season, I guess." 

And there I was, thinking they looked glorious. This should have been my signal to stop and put everything back and go home with the cat food. But noooooo. Ever Miss Mary Sunshine, always at the ready to bolster the flagging moral and hopes of any person, friend or stranger, mostly myself, I said, "Oh! They aren't that bad! All they need is proper planting and care, and they'll jump right back!"

Every sentence I speak, having anything to do with plants and gardens, finishes in a "!"! Plants! Flowers! Gardens! Every gardening tool known to gardeners! Compost! Nematodes! Lady Bugs! Mulch!

I wasn't wrong (or so I tell myself), however unconvinced he was, and then I made the mistake of stopping on the way home at my other favorite garden store to see if they had the Cransebill geraniums I wanted, and guess what? The worst. They had just had a shipment of fresh plants. Exactly what I had just bought, and in vastly better condition. It was gorgeous. I longed for it all. I kept the smile pasted firmly on my face, and bought  -- some more. Oh God. 

I bought all this without calculation. Without making a plan. I bought all of this by some sort of instinct that I hoped would serve me not too badly. It looked soooooo beautiful in the car! How could I be wrong! It would surely work out! I have an eye for color! I'd go home and paint with plants! It would be sensational! Ha! 

And yet, the plants are still sitting there, waiting for me to decide exactly where they belong. 

"This time, you'll plant them, and not leave them to die, right?" asked my husband. Of course! 

"I'm just giving myself the time to move them around until I have it just exactly right!" I said, and he believed me. 

Feeling insecure about the quality of my instincts, I set out to come up with a way to do it on paper. That would do it! I'd be certain of my decisions! 

It wasn't a bad idea, my system. With great concentration and industriousness, I cut out and colored the rose bushes and glued them where they were in the beds. Then, I sketched out the increasing heights of the roses and the plants I had bought. Now, all I had to do was make corresponding colored cutouts for each of them and move those around until I had used them all up and they seemed to be in the right place by color, height and size. Simple, right? 

That effort fizzled in a puddle of insecurity and laziness, too. 

My plans

The unending rain has allowed me to save face (for awhile) under cover of bad weather, while I wait for inspiration to speak to me, but this isn't going to last forever. 

....