You Can Call Me Gwen

Custom Flooring

 

Long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I had a friend who was replacing her parquet floor.

I asked her to save some pieces for me, thinking I would use them to mend a bad spot in our own floor while we wait for the happy day when we replace ours.

The bad spot was in a corner behind and under the media center so, obviously, it was a red-hot priority item on my home maintenance to-do list.

Not.

But, by golly, I've hung on to those 'tiles'.

 

 

When the grandshoots dropped in the other night, they discovered a loose piece of flooring in an exposed area of our floor and proceeded to do a very excited and competitive search for more when I told them there were others that were loose, as well.

As I watched them find (and pull up!) a few pieces of flooring, I remembered the salvaged pieces I'd been hoarding and realized that I am simply not going to do any floor repair with them.

I got out the Sharpies and the salvaged pieces of flooring for the grandshoots and told them they could design (temporary) replacements for the pieces of flooring they'd pulled up.

They were very pleased with their work...

 

 

...and their design choices...

 

 

...are as unique as they are.

 

We didn't glue anything down, and I kept and marked the pieces of 'real' flooring so I can put them back in, but just for now we have the most interesting and unique custom parquet floor "in the whole world on earth", as the Shoots used to say.

Tell that to

 

It matters.

Dear Diary,

This morning, after getting all my supplies loaded up and my work clothes on, I realized that it would probably be a kindness to my niece/client (who has three young children and a baby) if I didn't show up for work as early as I had planned, so I threw on a jacket (in May!?) and set out for a brisk and pared down version of one of my walks on the mean streets.

As I walked, I began talking to God, offering prayers of thanksgiving for legs that still work, a new day, the rain we've had, my family members, and for all manner of good things.

But, just so you know the whole truth, Diary, when my path took me onto the busy street and I began to feel agitated by the roar of the cars rushing by, my thanksgiving faltered in a very quick and noticeable way.

I thank God, who is constantly having to rescue me, that instead of cursing the noise and bustle of it, He prompted me to give thanks for my city and for the goodness of such things as a sanitary sewer system, paved, lighted and maintained roads, the sidewalk I was using, clean water, emergency alert systems, and curbside trash and recycle service.

Thinking with purposeful gratitude about my city caused my mind to turn, again, to the story of Nehemiah and the rebuilding of Jerusalem; a piece of history which we have been studying on Sundays,and on which I have been meditating for many weeks.

Those thoughts, in turn, became prayers that the Prince and I would take our places in the city, that we would mend and defend our section of the wall, wherever it is, and bring honor to God.

Two hours later, I was covered in bits of wallpaper backing and joint compound dust, teetering on a ladder and wielding a brush full of sealant for damaged walls which I was desperately trying to keep out of my hair.

I was listening to the sweet chatter of my client's five-year-old and promising her that she could use the roller and 'paint on some glue' once I'd worked my way down the wall to her level.

I stopped, once I'd gotten there, to take a photo - the third in a series showing the process of redoing the room - and it suddenly struck me.

I was, quite literally, repairing a wall in my city...

 

 

...and I knew that it mattered.

 

 

 

 

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I like to read.

All my friends have warts.

 

 

In my vegetable and herb garden, behind the beautiful basil plants and the dill which came up on it's own this year...

 

 

...is the mint bed, which is bounded by large rocks to keep it from overtaking the garden.

 

 

Inside the mint bed lives my friend Toady.

Every morning when I hand water the garden, Toady jumps out of his house to see me.

 

 

 

I know he doesn't look cheerful, but I also know he is pretty happy living in my mint bed.

I know that he is happy, because yesterday I discovered that he has decided to settle down and have a family there.

Today, Toady Jr. hopped out to say hello...

 

 

...under the watchful eye of Toady Sr.

 

 

I saw Mrs. Toad, too, but she hopped off to do errands before I got her picture.

It wasn't until I took these family photos that I realized Toady and his clan are quite pigeon-toed.

 

 

 

Not that it matters to me.

In fact, I've been thinking about Toady and his boy; about how folks think they're ugly and disgusting and always make sport of their warts.

I got to thinking about how we all have our warts, and ways that are ugly and disgusting, too.

I've been thinking about what happens if the warts and the ugliness become our focus when we think about each other.

It isn't pretty.

I see Toady and his family and they are beautiful to me.

They are desired guests in my mint bed because they are busy eating the things that like to eat me.

It's because of them that I can water and weed in my garden without having to pay for it with a million itchy mosquito bites.

Toady and his family are beautiful, in spite of their warts and their grumpy looking faces, because when I look at them, I'm thinking about the way they make my world a better place.

And you, Dear Readers?

You do, too.

And today, this little bird did as well.

 

 

He was perched near the garden on one of the many fences in our back yard that are sorely in need of replacing.

In fact, one of our five backyard neighbors (count 'em!) lost two fence panels a year ago and still hasn't replaced them.

I am not very happy about the large piles of smelly stuff their big dogs wander over to leave on our lawn, but because the fence is down my eyes get these blessings every morning:

 

 

So.

I'll scoop poop.

And give thanks.