There is that sweet smell of sawdust. (Sweet? That’s a little dramatic. Maybe the sneezing smell that is sawdust?) It is one of my favorite smells, because it is the smell of progress.
My favorite sound, you ask? The drill. The beautiful sound of a drill bit carefully chewing its way through some drywall and a nice wood stud beneath, then spitting the crumbs out onto your newly completed project. (I would say that the spat out crumbs are my favorite sight, but the sight of the completed project kind of outweighs that one, and messes up the flow.)
Getting projects completed in adulthood is a special challenge, and a special accomplishment. It is something that deserves gold stars. I should cut one out of some of the children’s construction paper and tape it to my husband’s chest. I’m sure he would love that so much that he would delay ripping it off for five seconds or so.
My husband, like many adults, is extremely busy. It took him about five years to get around to putting field fencing up around the property—but I have no complaints! That’s the magic secret to delaying something. By the time he completes a project, I am so happy to see it done that the five years it took to do it is nothing. Clearly the man has a much better handle on life and relationships than I do. I should pin him down for a discussion about world peace or the meaning of life.
So tonight he installed shelves in my closet, and I love them so much. I want to just sit there and caress them with my fingertips, up and down their long golden sides. I want to stare into what would be their eyes if they had eyes, and mumble endearing words of commitment. I’m going to tell them how dear they are to me, although I’ve only just met them.
WE INTERRUPT THIS INANIMATE OBJECT LOVEFEST TO ANNOUNCE THERE IS A BUTTERFLY LOOSE IN THE HOUSE.
“Pillar got back in the house! She is on the ceiling!”
What does a woman have to do to get some alone time with her new shelves? Does she need to hire a babysitter in order to whisper sweet nothings without interruption? It is midnight, mind you.
Pillar is one of three Monarch caterpillars that have been hand-raised from the milkweed they were discovered on. Yes, Cat is the oldest, A is the second, and Pillar is the third. Although we apparently were mistaken about their ages, because Pillar was the first to bust out of her cocoon and stretch her butterfly wings to the sky…or the ceiling.
The boy released her into the wild world at bedtime after discovering her waiting so patiently inside her cage.
“She must have flown back in before I got the door closed!” The boy said, having left illegal bedtime paraphernalia in plain sight on the floor—volume three of the Garfield collection, and a flashlight. I shifted my attention to the orange and black winged lady on the ceiling of the hallway. The three of us (the girl joined in, because she was wide awake and appeared to also be very familiar with volume three of the Garfield collection) spent the next ten minutes looking like kittens chasing a fluttering butterfly. Only in our case we were way less elegant and the backdrop of drywall was a lot less charming than an open meadow.
ADVISTORY CANCELED. ALL BUTTERFLIES AND HUMANS ARE SAFE TO RESUME NORMAL ACTIVITIES.
Now where was I? Yes, sweet sawdust, sweet drill bits, sweet husbands.
Sweet, sweet, beautiful shelves.