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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
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Beneath decks, wandering, to ascend the scaffolding in the stair or elevator shafts, to wind up or lay extension cords, in pursuit of a hundred mislaid tools...
The Deck, pours 1, 2 and 3 complete, hoarding still up for the next, there are endless pours scheduled, and one is sometimes called to venture beneath the deck on various errands, run power, tarp shafts, check upon pumps, find an endless variety of misplaced tools...
It's a labyrinth. There are the rows of scaffolds, joists, beams, pillars, the countless 2 X 4's to trip you up, the piles of forgotten rebar, the Stygian gloom, even the safety inspectors won't venture here, there are the countless tripping hazards, the crashing of loads above decks, the coming upon huddled groups of Filipinos and Mexicans pale with cement dust crowded about the wobble lights, here to escape the and cold sop up the heat from the propane heaters...the landscape of dreams...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
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Wherein the roommates ask about my day and I tell them, much as expected, outside all day, 12 hours, blizzard, sprain my wrist, broke my toe, lost my nose to frostbite, they feign interest but it's really just a sedgeway into how their days went.
"Brutal. 67 emails, had to watch 6 hours of video on the computer, all fascinating stuff but there isn't enough time, I only got through 18..."
I know this. Is the competition of fools, they're so long retired they don't remember what misery is. And, to be sure, I'm always pushing the boundaries, but it's a little like listening to the 16 year old princess tell her friends how her parents must hate her because they bought her the wrong color of Porsche for her birthday...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1881
I've never paid it too much attention, but with the new job and all, working outdoors, it's become a bit of a priority.
Every day last week all of the forecasts were wrong. By a lot. Highs of 5, 7, 10 degrees, only once did it break 0.
The easiest job in the world must be that of a weatherman. I could do better tossing bones or chickens into the air. And provide quality entertainment, but then maybe everyone would see the news for what it really is ... entertainment of the basest and most inaccurate kind.
The roommates, they're addicted to the weather channel, watching it and noting when it's inaccurate, nonetheless quoting me the next days, weeks best guess as if it will help.
It never does. Better to dress as if it was going to be 10 or 20 degrees colder than their forecast, it usually is.
But the ads, for incontinence diapers and bladder control shorts, they say it all. They've found their audience.
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
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Morning, descending into the pit, the headlamps on the hardhats lighting the way, the flagger, sentinal, takes a cigarette, his toll for signing you safely to the bottom, a pump-tastrophe, flood, over the weekend all the pumps have failed, the pump-gineer's idea to run a four-way off another four-way has blown the breakers, water everywhere, 4, 6, 10 foot pits deep filled with rebar and water, vast flats of mud, a days work for the excavators lost, for us just begun...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
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Back, now, finally.
A hundred pages of notes, photos, scattered, new job in construction, outdoors and worse hours (I never thought this possible, but they accepted my terms - that I'd be leaving in the spring, and so now I must accept theirs...), a small room in a smaller house.
The adventures, I will add them here as I find time, for the next few weeks unfolding this blog will be a bit of a puzzle to assemble events into their proper order, but if you're that curious you'll figure it out.
I'll catch you up in brief upon the summers misadventures, the rain and snow and swollen rivers, the hillbillies with their quotes from Ezekiel, the countless "no trespassing" signs, the hours driving from the Tulameen to Cypress Hills, Edmonton to Pincer Creek, gold, finally, in quantities that will require better equipment than I possessed, not failure just yet but a winter to recover finances and find new prospects, equipment, keep warm. The months of August and the slight beginnings of September spent homeless and upon the road, a new car, better car, my car, a new place, smaller but temporary, and many thanks to those who lent me their sofas.
Eventually it will all make sense.