A Week of Posts....

I came to understand early on that my work in this remodel, beyond shovels and sledgehammers, is the work of empathy. I am grateful to have received that vision in clarity and calm and now my work is at hand, daily supporting us all in finding our strength and love in this building process.

Last week, the boys and I rented a UHaul pickup that we loaded time and again with lumber from our friend, David, and from the Home Depot. The latter we attacked like the hoodlums that we are, tearing down the aisles at top speed on a Tuesday morning, seeing how much air we could catch with the shopping cart. When we returned the pickup, we spent the afternoon riding the bus home and touring the scenic route just for the fun of it. What a delight to spend a few hours spinning and laughing!

The garden work also took precedence. I loaded 1/2 yard of compost into the back of my Volvo stationwagon and carted it off to the neighbors to plant another corn and bean field. I turned and planted three beds with tomatoes, peppers and green beans. I weeded, watered, and mulched. The winter garden at Ben's place we slashed to the roots to make room for a quick cover crop. Compost piles built, manure moved, the earth rose through my fingertips and grounded me with her energy and insight.

At one point, I felt exhausted and worried considering how much there was to plant and dig within the next two weeks. I needed a day off to rest, I told myself. I had pushed just a bit harder in the digging than I could recover from easily, especially on my moon cycle. But the garage contents would have to be moved and the wall taken down before the concrete poured in two weeks. When would I rest?

These were my thoughts as my hands shook wet laundry and hung it to dry. Now, came the answer. Rest now. I inhaled deeply and smiled. A pair of underwear. Ah, that is all. A sock. Yes. Here is my rest. And so I hung laundry and only hung laundry for fifteen minutes. The last piece went up and my strength and joy restored at once. I am grateful for the lesson.

The weekend before, we dug almost 300 square feet of footing, 18" deep -- nine hours a day at the shovel 'til finished. Seda and I discussed world history with such fervor that the hole swallowed us effortlessly. We have worked side by side for seventeen years now. Our romance has long since crumbled and blown with the wind, but the one mindedness of our partnership stands naked like bedrock between us. When she inched the excavator across a narrow landbridge, I sharply begged her to retreat. Half an hour later, I fell sobbing into her arms for what we've lost and what we've held through this transition. These are old bones.

The boys spent those days and much of the week floating in and out of the building site with friends, carrying lumber, popsicles, and books to read. They run half-wild in the neighborhood, accepting sun screen and food from other mothers hands with trust and appreciation. The last children in at night, they are rooted to their own set of possibilities, independence imminent.

On Saturday, I led an NVC workshop in Portland, gone for the day. At seven o'clock at night, I took in the piles on piles of laundry, miscellaneous toys, clothes, seeds, and projects that had layered themselves in the house as I labored a week outdoors. I asked Trinidad when he could help me clean up. "Well, actually, mom... I had other plans," he told me.

I needed empathy. As the boys played badmitton at the neighbors, I called a friend. My worries poured out about the timing of our project, my desire to live in joy, my needs for efficiency and more than anything, connection and teamwork. In fifteen minutes (hard to take in the chaos of my home), I wound down to the core of what I could see: a week of work I engaged in with almost no interruption from the kids. A week they entertained themselves without screeens, and here was the mess to prove it.

I smiled. It is my joy to contribute back to them this way. I picked up the house in short order and hugged both of my sweaty children as they came in with the moon. They thanked me profusely as they do daily for all of my work. I heartfully thanked them for their efforts. This is the path I set out to find. Deep gratitude to the universe for keeping my footfalls true.

The next day, a dear friend and her family came to help us move the garage and take down the wall. The work was slow to get rolling. We were not completely prepared, and this fact shifted many outcomes. I found myself not resisting at all, but easily moving to give Ben empathy for the fact that he, too, had come to help in a short window and now had no time left. The empathy wound around to other frustrations and mournings as I witnessed it calmly, making space for us all to grow, individually and in relationship. He sighed over and over, melting into the carseat as I hung off the car window, feet planted in the street.

This is my work, I thought. This is what I'm here for. I felt so grateful to have found the strength to ask for empathy myself the night before, to have grounded myself in compassion, that I might offer it to others. The time it all took felt meaningless as the space opened wide for all possibilities.

There is a hole in the wall now. Seda swung the sledgehammer like she meant it, and the concrete shook. Eight kids from the neighborhood took front row seats with lollipops and shouted commentary over the fence to others. I cut a bouquet to send home with our friends who brought food, hands, and hearts to this work. My intentions for the day -- fun and connection -- manifested.

I am so grateful to be present here at the foundation.