The bed, she is together

I remembered the ballad of Frank.  Frank was the plasterer at Amedeo Garden Court some 30 years ago, and he taught me a lesson without ever saying a word.

He worked so deliberately that he looked like he was surfing on molasses.  He never stopped.  He never, ever stopped, until a stopping point came.  He started ready to do the job and he kept at it, taking his mandated breaks, from 8 until 4.

So the ballad of Frank is, when you have a job of work in front of you, gather your materials, mentally prepare yourself, and don’t stop until it’s done.  Which I did.  I counted the pieces, counted the hardware, read the instructions, cast them aside except to consult them as to which kind of hardware I should use next, and took just under four hours to assemble it, stopping only to remove most of the crap out of my room for construction space, and to stay hydrated.  Please remember, I was assembling it alone and you know that awkward little bit at the beginning when you’re trying to get the fracking dowels to line up…. I let go of the footboard and it stood on its own.  So did the other end.  That really helped.

Margot came in and was an entire pain in the ass, chasing screws around, patting them through the holes, and then when I dropped a piece of hardware on the other side of the footboard I said, “Be a love and pass that over here,” which she obligingly did, and how I long to have taped that.

It is an Ikea style single/single bunk bed two shades darker than the floors.  One of the pieces of assembly hardware is so cool I fell in love with it.  And I had to assemble the drawers from 6 pieces plus much screwing, hell now, there were like twelve screws in those bloody drawers.  They ain’t comin’ apart again, by gar.

And I had to screw down the slats (I didn’t put in all the screws supplied, mostly because squirmy eight year olds will not be sleeping in it).  As I affirm to an uncaring universe, if a small child moved in with me I would definitely screw those slats down as much mischief is avoided if the bed is more solid.  And there was the ladder to assemble with count’em TWENTY dowels, plus screws, plus mounting bolts, and the extra screw for the baby rails on the top bunk on three sides, and the getting the two beds lined up on their little metal posts (that was actually the hardest and most awkward part).

So…. tired.   Must sleep now.

Oh, and I finished Imagination and Don’t Put Too Much Sugar In the Bottles.  The short ones go fast.

Sundry and various

My bed showed up!  The trucker specializes in Victoria / Vancouver so maybe he can assist us in getting stuff back from Victoria, namely, pinballs.

Now I have to assemble the sumbitch.  But tonight, I sleep OFF THE FLOOR, which is a wondrous thing.

Peggy came by and traded organic raspberries for salmon paté.

Now for a poetry break.  I wrote this in 1989:


Cantaloupes block the doors open
there is an orange in the mirror

cherries lurk in the crisper
bananas curl up in a basket

pears loll on the dining room table
I found four peach pits in the sink
leftover raspberries and cream on the counter

chocolate fondue burbles in the bathroom

the pineapple is waist deep in apricots

I caught her eating blueberries in bed
courageous woman, all her sheets are white
& summer is a stain of every colour

Yesterday I was lazy

I took the kids to Harry Potter VI and to Red Robin afterwards for eats, and Paul met us there, and apart from working on two songs and breaking down some boxes I didn’t do a damned thing.  Today I am going to wait for my new bed to be delivered and then I am going to see Peggy as she comes to collect her share of the smoked salmon paté.  Whatever I do I’d better buckle down and actually do some WORK.