So we bought a house and are doing extensive renovations. Good angst can be expelled by smashing out a kitchen and putting your foot through drywall. Give it a shot sometime, reno or no reno. I'm in the bathroom today tearing out drywall and I'm on a two-step ladder reaching with my knife to score the drywall to limit where it breaks off when I have a keen recollection.
About 7 years ago we did renovations to our existing bathroom. My Dad was helping me put in fresh drywall on the ceiling. If you've ever placed drywall into a ceiling before, you know it's about as much fun as chewing tinfoil: it's gotta happen but you can't wait for the credits. So I'm on a stacking stool and my Dad is on a two-step ladder. We bring a piece of drywall up that is almost a full 4x8 sheet towards the ceiling. The plan was simple, brilliant and straight-forward. We put the piece up on the ceiling, position it and I would hold it up by myself while Dad put 2 or 3 screws in just to keep it from crashing. The drywall goes up and gets into position. That was the last successful part of the plan. Dad places a screw on the drill and starts to put it into the drywall. Misses the ceiling joist. Puts another screw on the drill. Misses the joist to the opposite side. At this point my muscles are experiencing serious acid build up. I work with people all day. My hobbies include fishing and playing guitar. I have a limited muscle mass. It's true now and it was certainly true then. Dad tries to take the screw out of the drywall. "Dad, just leave it. Try again", I plead. He places another screw on the drill and this one falls off just as he gets it to the face of the drywall. My arms are doing the shakes. Badly. "Hurry Dad. Hurry up. Hurry, hurry." I can still see him moving in almost slow motion to get another screw. 45 minutes later he finds one and puts it on the drill. This one goes into the drywall and into solid wood! But wait. Dad has screwed it too far and has broken the paper which completely takes all the strength away. At this point I have to reposition myself and I slip a little. Dad tries to catch the drywall and in doing so repositions the leg of his ladder over a hole in the floor. He goes sideways which causes his body to hit my stool which sends me flying like I'm ducking for cover in a gunfight. When all is said and done, Dad and I are on the floor, the drywall is in two pieces and the stacking stool has two legs going the opposite way they were designed to. I let out a couple expletives and just shake my head at the whole debacle.
It was Dad's birthday yesterday. He should have turned 80 except he passed away in May 2003 of a massive heart attack. He literally died in the middle of saying sentence.
Dad and I were not really very close, but I loved the guy and I know he loved me. I miss him. And when I stood on that ladder today in that half gutted bathroom I couldn't help but think of the old guy and I really missed him. He would be driving me absolutely nuts with this renovation and I would be coming home from working at the house complaining like crazy about him. Wouldn't that be a treat...
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