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.

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