Seven Days a Week
Did you remember to turn your clock back? I turned our clock back. OK, I didn’t turn any clocks back. We have one of those atomic clocks that turns it self back. Someone turns the clocks back on all the computers, phones tablets without me doing a thing. Technology has given me all this extra time I have previously reserved for changing my clocks twice a year. I’m not sure what I plan to do with this extra time; maybe I’ll take a nap.
I forgot to tell Maggie this morning was the day we sleep an hour longer. She was up scratching on the side of the bed at the usual time. It wasn’t really mine or Maggie’s fault. Our roosters don’t have a clock to look at in the coop, so they got up by looking at the sun. When they get up everyone in the house gets up. Well, not the humans. I am the only human that gets up.
I could use this extra time working on the mall. I never realized how important massages are/were to people. As I mentioned last week, the project is a little behind schedule. We are working seven days a week to catch up.
Every project that I have done in this mall has been crazy, but this one takes first prize. Most of the workers and materials have come from Denver and beyond.
Materials arrive on the job in quantities that are ALMOST enough to complete our project. Sub-contractors show up when they can bring enough personnel to ALMOST get the job done. When one contractor does not finish what he/she has promised they will get accomplished the next contractor comes in tells me “Hey. they’re not ready for me. I’m going to need to charge extra to come back some other day.” That usually happens after the two contractors have exchange some angry, loud construction language in a couple different languages. That’s when I swoop in and tell one contractor, “You finish what you are doing here, and you start over there. Come get me when it is truly a problem.”
Two hours later, someone will walk by in yoga pants and all work stops. Men that hated each other two hours before are suddenly best friends. Conversations start that would make presidential candidates blush. I move in to focus the attention back to tile and painting. The “men” pat each other on the back and go to work having wasted twenty minutes.
The owner of the massage parlor stops by a couple times a day to remind me she would really like to be open. When she stops by, secretly I start wondering if Ivy has yarn that needs to be dyed.
I need to get this massage parlor open. We are getting into the Holiday season. Ivy and I need to plan our Christmas yarns. OK, Ivy and Elaine will plan the yarns and then tell me what I’m doing. Truthfully, sometimes I like not being in charge.
Our crazy lives!
Monner
