rsser
5th December 2012, 11:57 AM
The house is echoing to the roar of a floor polisher's drum sander, and it's brought back memories.
We moved in 22 years ago and the first priority was to get rid of the ghastly mustard coloured carpet and polish the boards.
When the boards were revealed we got one of those moments when the swan that was expected turned out to be an ugly duckling :(
All the old boards were cupped to buggery. A product of post-war austerity in building supplies.
It was a hot summer and my partner was 8 months pregnant. The pressure was on to get it done before the baby popped.
While I wrestled with the drum sander in one room my partner was down on hands and knees punching in nails. And puffing but nary a complaint, god bless her. It took what felt like forever.
Cos of the time constraints, I finished the floors spraying on a couple of coats of poly with an airless gun. Not optimal but the surface was good up to a few years ago.
The baby popped in a text-book labour. The missus woke me up at 6am saying the contractions were coming hard. She leant against me in the back yard and puked on my bare feet. I drove her to the labour ward while she was really huffing and puffing, took one wrong turn in my nervousness and got a restrained complaint about my incompetence. On arrival the midwife was unconcerned til she put her hand on Helen's back to feel a contraction, and her eyebrows went up. The only drama was during the 'transition' when Helen said she'd had enough and wanted to go home. Standard stuff apparently, but I couldn't offer to take over.
Now that bub is studying for a term in the US and doing well, academically and socially. We fear we will loose her to the Land of the 'Free'.
Meantime, the floor polisher is going gangbusters. We chose him cos he did next door's floors and it was a quality job. Three coats of 2-pack poly.
I'm no longer up to that kind of work but have been doing the repainting in the two rooms being redecorated. Jeez I hate painting. There's 34 m of ornate 150 mm cornices and two huge ceiling roses. Plus picture rails, windows and endless architraves and skirting boards. Got what feels like a permanent crick in the neck.
I like Arendt's distinction between labour and work. Labour is about the endless resupply and repair that life demands of us. Work is lasting. Like a good bit of woodwork or a friend helped over a crisis.
We moved in 22 years ago and the first priority was to get rid of the ghastly mustard coloured carpet and polish the boards.
When the boards were revealed we got one of those moments when the swan that was expected turned out to be an ugly duckling :(
All the old boards were cupped to buggery. A product of post-war austerity in building supplies.
It was a hot summer and my partner was 8 months pregnant. The pressure was on to get it done before the baby popped.
While I wrestled with the drum sander in one room my partner was down on hands and knees punching in nails. And puffing but nary a complaint, god bless her. It took what felt like forever.
Cos of the time constraints, I finished the floors spraying on a couple of coats of poly with an airless gun. Not optimal but the surface was good up to a few years ago.
The baby popped in a text-book labour. The missus woke me up at 6am saying the contractions were coming hard. She leant against me in the back yard and puked on my bare feet. I drove her to the labour ward while she was really huffing and puffing, took one wrong turn in my nervousness and got a restrained complaint about my incompetence. On arrival the midwife was unconcerned til she put her hand on Helen's back to feel a contraction, and her eyebrows went up. The only drama was during the 'transition' when Helen said she'd had enough and wanted to go home. Standard stuff apparently, but I couldn't offer to take over.
Now that bub is studying for a term in the US and doing well, academically and socially. We fear we will loose her to the Land of the 'Free'.
Meantime, the floor polisher is going gangbusters. We chose him cos he did next door's floors and it was a quality job. Three coats of 2-pack poly.
I'm no longer up to that kind of work but have been doing the repainting in the two rooms being redecorated. Jeez I hate painting. There's 34 m of ornate 150 mm cornices and two huge ceiling roses. Plus picture rails, windows and endless architraves and skirting boards. Got what feels like a permanent crick in the neck.
I like Arendt's distinction between labour and work. Labour is about the endless resupply and repair that life demands of us. Work is lasting. Like a good bit of woodwork or a friend helped over a crisis.