Sometimes a stereotype is just shorthand for reality
Where are the asphalters? I call the biggest yellow page ads and the nice woman always takes my name and promises an estimator. Not one, not once. I think I know why. An asphalter or concrete installer is like a shark. He has to keep feeding just to stay alive. He accepts the fact that his employees are drawn from the lowest pool of workers and that they are temporary. So he as an owner or supervisor spends his time checking the various works -in-progress and looking at new jobs. The problem is that when the work is plentiful (and usually behind schedule) he hasn't the time or inclination to look at more work. This is especially true for a 1000 sf job.
Now where does this leave me? I think it leaves me with the "just cancelled" strategy or the "write it into the lease" strategy. If I call all 50 of the asphalt companies I think I"ll hit a guy who has a hole in his schedule and I'm good to go. The other strategy is to negotiate a clause with the property management co. that allows me to repave during their tenancy.
Now it"s of to find out if Goodwill will take my excess furniture. I hope to dump half of my furniture and only move the few pieces I like. This is my nature. I might as well accept it. I'm a minimalist pack-rat. I've got top 40 hit lists from 1966 and no dining room table. I guess another job for today will be the tagging of what goes with me and what goes away... I just had a little jolt pass through me. The idea of "cleanin' out my closet" has that nice cleansing aspect to it. doesn't it?
This reminds me of 20 years ago when I was working on an installation of substation equipment in the beautiful hills outside of Salem OR. We weren't working so hard that we didn't drive to the local small town for lunch each and every week day. The fields around Salem would serve as a perfect definition of bucolic. In spring they are lush and yet orderly and as picturesque as hell. Anyhow the one field that stood out was the mint field. There were grass seed and hops fields galore, but only one mint field that we noticed. What we couldn't help noticing was the burning of the fields in the spring. This was done for many different crops to kill the weed seeds and rejuvenate the soil. Mint is a perennial and apparently needs to be burnt in order to regrow the tender spearmint shoots that are picked in the fall. The smell of burnt mint is other worldly, like nothing else and like other pungent odors brings back vivid memories. The point of this ramble is that in a week or so the mint was already poking through the charred field. Such a bright green highlighted by the black sooty background. And it had that wonderful smell of fresh spearmint. Those were nice days, nice people, wonderful countryside, a quaint little town cafe in the offing and then the smell of mint. A first just a hint and then sensory overload. All followed by a pleasant lunch. It was a perfect little memory. And to me a perfect little analogy on rejuvenation and rebirth.
Where are the asphalters? I call the biggest yellow page ads and the nice woman always takes my name and promises an estimator. Not one, not once. I think I know why. An asphalter or concrete installer is like a shark. He has to keep feeding just to stay alive. He accepts the fact that his employees are drawn from the lowest pool of workers and that they are temporary. So he as an owner or supervisor spends his time checking the various works -in-progress and looking at new jobs. The problem is that when the work is plentiful (and usually behind schedule) he hasn't the time or inclination to look at more work. This is especially true for a 1000 sf job.
Now where does this leave me? I think it leaves me with the "just cancelled" strategy or the "write it into the lease" strategy. If I call all 50 of the asphalt companies I think I"ll hit a guy who has a hole in his schedule and I'm good to go. The other strategy is to negotiate a clause with the property management co. that allows me to repave during their tenancy.
Now it"s of to find out if Goodwill will take my excess furniture. I hope to dump half of my furniture and only move the few pieces I like. This is my nature. I might as well accept it. I'm a minimalist pack-rat. I've got top 40 hit lists from 1966 and no dining room table. I guess another job for today will be the tagging of what goes with me and what goes away... I just had a little jolt pass through me. The idea of "cleanin' out my closet" has that nice cleansing aspect to it. doesn't it?
This reminds me of 20 years ago when I was working on an installation of substation equipment in the beautiful hills outside of Salem OR. We weren't working so hard that we didn't drive to the local small town for lunch each and every week day. The fields around Salem would serve as a perfect definition of bucolic. In spring they are lush and yet orderly and as picturesque as hell. Anyhow the one field that stood out was the mint field. There were grass seed and hops fields galore, but only one mint field that we noticed. What we couldn't help noticing was the burning of the fields in the spring. This was done for many different crops to kill the weed seeds and rejuvenate the soil. Mint is a perennial and apparently needs to be burnt in order to regrow the tender spearmint shoots that are picked in the fall. The smell of burnt mint is other worldly, like nothing else and like other pungent odors brings back vivid memories. The point of this ramble is that in a week or so the mint was already poking through the charred field. Such a bright green highlighted by the black sooty background. And it had that wonderful smell of fresh spearmint. Those were nice days, nice people, wonderful countryside, a quaint little town cafe in the offing and then the smell of mint. A first just a hint and then sensory overload. All followed by a pleasant lunch. It was a perfect little memory. And to me a perfect little analogy on rejuvenation and rebirth.
posted by garrison at 10:46 AM
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