a reno kind of morning

I awake to the sound of someone moving around in the basement. I check the clock. It's 6am. If this was a few months ago I would have guessed it was rats, but today it must be electricians. They are usually early risers and generally don't have to worry about the city noise bylaw section 16 thing outlawing construction noise before 7:30am.

At 6:30am I get up, shower and change, grab a yogurt, put on the kettle for tea and check email.

At 6:44 I hear a tap on the front door. Could I come down and go through the electrical plan? Of course I can. I switch off the kettle, grab my notes and go down the front steps, out the front gate, around the house, in the side gate and through the basement door, a crescent I could do in the dark these days. I miss the back stairs.

Room by room we go. How many lights here? 5 inch pots or 3 inch pots? What about switches, how many and where placed? 3 way? dimmers? Outlets now. Where, what kind and now many? Smoke detectors. Outside lights. Motion sensored? Accessed from downstairs or upstairs?

During this time the contractor arrives with his eldest daughter who has brought cookies for everyone, including a plate for me. We have never met before. I wish her happiness and prosperity until the end of her days.

We also nod to the duct guy, the framing guys, the electrician's son (why are electrical businesses most often operated by a father and son?) and the regular team of workers who immediately start in on their tasks that have been marked down on our new framing. Should someone in the future remove the walls to this project they will find these talismen to a 21st century
Canadian working man's day.

9am. I go back around by the front door and relight the kettle. Pick up 8 phone messages and return all those that require returning (security company rough-in appointment, window guy, parents, etc.). Drink four-fifths of one mug of tea.

9:15am. A light tap on the door. Can I come out and see about moving a couple of plants that will be in the way of new windows? Of course I can. I suspected I'd have to move them but didn't want to in the height of summer until I knew where they could go. I put on gardening clothes and go out to move two plants, one easy (climbing hydrangea) and one hard (New Dawn rose), both which I hope live, but secretly say good-bye. I take the opportunity to water the outside boulevard plants which have been shamefully neglected this summer. Come inside dirty and wet and hot. When and where am I going to go to do laundry this week? New washer and dryer are weeks away. The sun has come out through the usual late summer morning marine cloud.

11:05am. Drink a full mug of tea and eat one cookie.

There's a light tap on the front door. Can we sort out the new electrics on this floor? Of course we can. Smoke detector to go here. Heated towel rail in Hollywood bathroom and shaving plug to go here and here.

While this is going on there is the sound of a swarm of men moving about downstairs, a radio station playing hard rock relatively quiet accompaniment to saws and hammers and drills and guffaws. The chorus under the lead actors, their various tools and boxes of equipment shining and glowing like holiday ornaments.

11:59am. Go down to take a few photos. See old hot water tank sitting lonely by the gate, its guts sprawled on the grass. Recognize oldie rock tune from first time around. Think maybe I should grab some sort of real food before the afternoon kicks into high gear. Dump out rest of pot of now stone cold tea.