Building By Myself

 I was going to write about something different today - about what I've been doing the last two weeks.  And I likely will.  But then something welled up in me that I have to get out.

It started simply enough.  I want to do some weaving samples, so I was down in Chez Wicca, measuring the warp.  I'm going to use the smaller loom that I have down there (there's less yarn wasted on it than my big loom.  When you're threading a warp onto a loom, it helps if you have something to hold all the yarns steady.  My big loom has a commercial holder - that doesn't fit the little one.  But I dug around my stash (ahem.  I keep talking about Bob being a hoarder, while I have "stash").  I found some narrow lathing strips and some scrap wood that I ran out to the chop saw to cut to length and then used my own drill to make a few needed holes and found my own box of screw and put the thing together.  Simple, but satisfying.

There's just a satisfaction when you need something, and then make it.  No matter how simple.  It just took me a while to get here.  Growing up in the mid 1900's (doesn't that sound like a long time ago?  It was) boys took shop and made cool things.  Girls took home ec and learned how to sew an apron and make cinnamon toast.  I was so jealous of my brother for the things he got to do.  And if he wanted to try something at home, he and Dad would work together - Dad lending expertise if Mike got stuck.  I often wonder if Dad and I would have gotten along better if he had treated me the same way.  As it was, I would want something, and try to figure out how to do it, and he would say he would do it for me and then work on it while I stood around and watched until I got bored with watching and went to ride my bike. Then, often, I wouldn't be that interested in the final project because I hadn't had any input into it.  And, once again, Dad would be angry because the spoiled brat me was unappreciative.

And that just went down a different path, didn't it?

Anyway, I've always been in touch with my little kid self who stomps her tiny feet and says "I want to do it myself."

For the most part, Bob appreciated it.  After all, we met when I was the lone female (in the entire United States) pledging the Pershing Rifles in ROTC.    But still, being so much bigger and stronger, he would often do stuff for me.  On one hand, really nice.  On the other - I don't like being made to feel small and helpless.

So that was the flashback today, while down in my cottage, doing a small build.  Remembering many years ago - there was some change I wanted to make to the cottage - and now I can't remember even what it was.  Whatever, it was something either too heavy or too awkward for me to do by myself.  I told Bob what I wanted.  He thought about it, and then got enthusiastic, and started making some plans, and thinking it would be better if . . . .      and I broke in a few time with what I had in mind, and it got brushed aside and the plan fixed in his head and he was pretty sure that he had what was needed - and about that time my temper flared and I yelled "Never mind!  It doesn't matter!  It's fine the way it is!" and stomped off.

He, of course, stood there with his "what did I do?" look on his face.  After I calmed down a little, I tried to explain.  That he didn't know what it was like to be too small and too weak to do something, and therefore couldn't do it the way you wanted it done.  That I was yelling out of frustration at myself.  That if I needed his help, then I had to do it his way - and as long as I couldn't have it the way I wanted, why bother to change it in the first place?

And now I can't even remember what it was - but it eventually was done to my plan.

Sometimes that attitude backfired on me.  I was the one who ripped  out the ugly artificial grass in the screened in front porch (was was the original owner thinking:?) and laid the Mexican tile.  I plastered the kitchen walls.  I put the tile down in the bathroom.  I painted the back deck (we couldn't get it done when the rest of the house was being professionally painted because wrens had a nest on the deck and we had to wait for the babies to fledge).  But, in general.  I was happier.  And when I needed help, he was always there.  And he loved doing stuff for me, to make me happy (after he learned to ask me first for what I really wanted).  And sometimes he even needed my help with stuff.

I guess that "I can do it myself" attitude has paid off - it means I get to keep my home and land.   But while I never wanted anyone to do stuff *for* me, I do miss working *with* him.  We were a good team.