The Reno

I like to look at my life as though all the shit that happens has some sort of meaning.  Better than feeling like a victim with no control, a sailboat without a mainsail bouncing in a roaring sea of unexpected storms, tsunamis, Nor'Easters.  Take my aging dog.  I am learning to accept death.  We all die.  We can go to the doctor, vet in this case, and get pain killers, inflammation fighters, joint relief, but as my brother told me the other day, "We are all careening towards death."  True he is in a depressive cycle these days but he's not wrong.  It is a truth I no longer deny.  I just smile at my dog who is unsteady on her feet and hold my breath as she attempts to descend down the second floor stairs that appear to move under her feet.  And this picture of a newly installed French doors, red kitchen walls, a free hanging wire and skanky unfinished floors is a case in point.  Another opportunity to learn a lesson.  Or scream.  No longer will I imagine that the rental renovation will go along without any problems.  What fool thinks that?  See the wire dangling there on the right?  The carpenter's idiot employees who he drops off and then runs away from, cut it and left it swinging in the breeze.  The employees who smell like pot.  Which I might need to go smoke later today.  The electrician is like, "What's this?"  Charging us $120 to repair.  And this will be after the wall is torn out and redone, repainted (after the painters have left).  And the kitchen cupboards we ordered for this rental came three days before they were supposed to, damaged.  So I sent them back.  They returned three days later with a replacement part to cover the damage.  And this delivery guy wouldn't put them into the unit.  "Oh, no we don't do that."  But when the carpenter who I cannot trust unpacked the cabinets there were only 4 not 11.  I called the kitchen lady who ordered them for us to track them down.  She tells me, "Wow, this is unacceptable.  Never happened before!"  Sure, well, whatever.  I think I believe her?  Turns out after e-mails and calls, voice messages and an apologetic woman named Gia, they are essentially lost in a warehouse in Billerica, Massachusetts.  Sixty miles away.  So I had to send the unreliable carpenter away, change the date of the appliances and hope the cabinets turn up after the floors are refinished by the time the new tenant (who has paid a deposit) is moving in.  But first I have to run over there today with the shop vac and help my husband suck up debris.  The lesson here?  Shit happens.  Expect it and carry on.  You'd think at my age in life I'd embrace this true notion that things will likely not go as expected.  Either that or the devil is tapping his/her/their fingers in glee, watching me spin as I calm down my husband who accidentally hung up the phone on the carpenter, insist the kitchen lady find her inner balls and solve the missing cabinet problem and get into my grungy clothes to sweep the unit before the guys who are refinishing the floors turn up at 9.  Wait, they just rescheduled to come at 10.  I think I'm going to go smoke a joint and smile at my dog.