Monthly Archives: October 2017

Costumes: What’s below the surface?

During our renovation we peeled back the layers of our kitchen and made some discoveries.

We uncovered the original wallpaper from the 1960s that had lurked behind our cupboards all along.

When we knocked out a pantry, we found tile of the same vintage.

Removing some drywall showed us it that had never been properly attached to 2 x 4s as crooked as Wayne Gretzky’s hockey stick.

We also found inadequate insulation and . . . creative . . . electrical wiring. Our kitchen had worn a costume that covered up unseen details and flaws. 

A beautiful costume is important, but it’s only as good as what’s below the surface. At Hallowe’en we are fixing all the problems and preparing a new costume for a brighter, more open, more functional and safer kitchen.

When it’s finished, we’ll love the new costume—and what’s below the surface too.

 

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Hammer and nail

“Into God’s temple of eternity,
Drive a nail of gold.
—from In Search of a Soul by Raymond Moriyama

We are renovating our kitchen, so chaos that tests my “patience and my sweet nature,” as a fellow blogger at Becoming put it, surrounds me. The up side (and there’s always an up side) is that I have plenty of fodder for blog ideas.

I sit on my living room sofa contemplating the box of nails left on my coffee table by the contractor. “Common” nails, the box tells me. Ordinaires. Nothing out of the ordinary.

For something so common, they possess golden power. Those “common” nails hold together my kitchen, the heart of my home—providing they work with their friends. One nail can do a job, but only while enduring stress and only for a brief time before letting go from the strain.

Each nail is meant to be a small part of a greater work. 

The “common” nails on my coffee table—the ones that serve their ordinary, powerful purposed so well—are one of many different kinds of nails, all of which serve different ordinary, powerful purposes. Short nails don’t judge themselves against longer ones; they know short nails fit nestle in where long nails would burst through and ruin the result. A galvanized roofing nail does not feel inferior to a brass brad; they know strength and perseverance serve better than beauty out in the elements. Drywall nails appreciate their bumpy, ridged shape ideal for slipping through drywall paper and sinking into the frame, something a finishing nail won’t do.

Nails need help from another source: the hand that wields hammer. Nails on their own lie listlessly in a box awaiting a purpose, awaiting the hand that drives the hammer. When their time comes to shine, they are perfect for the job for which they are chosen: the perfect size, the perfect material, the perfect shape. Golden.

When the hammer strikes the nail, when the work is underway, it doesn’t feel good. It hurts! Fulfilling the purpose is not meant to be a pain-free, comfortable experience.

If I am a nail, common or otherwise, I have a golden purpose for which I am the perfect size, the perfect material, the perfect shape. I am a small part of a greater work.

I know the hand that wields the hammer is with me. I’d better call up some friends.

 

A fly in the ointment

A few dead flies will make even the best perfume stink. In the same way, a little foolishness can ruin much wisdom and honor. —Ecclesiastes 10:1

I used the expression during a family game of euchre on our summer vacation at the cottage. I had a good hand, and I took the first four of five tricks. But on the last one my daughter snuck in there with a higher card to deprive me of the extra point. “Ah, you were the fly in my ointment,” I said.

“What did you say?” my son asked.

“I said that she was the fly in my ointment.”

“I thought that’s what you said. What does that mean?”

“Have you never heard that expression before?”

“No.”

I turned to my daughter, “Have you?”

“No.”

Her boyfriend was in the room? “Have you?”

“No.” He looked mystified.

I started to wonder if I’d been saying something wrong over the years, or if the expression was one of those unique to the Ottawa Valley where I grew up. The Valley has many quaint but not universally shared expressions. I turned to my husband, “Have you heard of that?” He nodded that he had. Phew, I thought. I’m not losing my mind!

“What does it mean?” my son asked again.

I thought it would have been obvious, but apparently not. I said, “Well, it’s the dark spot in something that is otherwise perfect, or a damaging element in something that is otherwise healing. One small thing that harms a big good thing, or is just plain annoying.”

“That makes no sense. How could a fly get in the ointment anyway? It’s in a tube,” my daughter said.

Ah ha! We’d hit the stumbling block. People of my generation can envision a vat or tub of ointment with a dark fly in the light colour, buy in the mind’s eye of people my daughter’s age, ointment comes only in a tube.

“At the time the expression came to be ointment came in pots or tubs,” I said. “Picture a container of white ointment with a dark fly in it.”

“But why would you care if you had a fly in your ointment?” my daughter insisted.

Why do I care if there’s a fly in my ointment? Because a little foolishness can ruin much wisdom and honour, and there is foolishness going on right now that is ruining much wisdom and honour.

I know the negative thoughts and actions taking place all around us these days don’t represent the thoughts and actions of most people, but they’re flies in the ointment. Those few people who say them, think them, act on them make life stink to high heaven for all of us. The dark spots in an otherwise happy world, the damaging elements in an otherwise healing world, the small stains blemish the big picture.

Out damned spot!

 

 

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