"Carry"

I’ve carried a lot of things in my life… rocks, brothers, backpacks, tents, canoes, lumber, drywall… Okay, let’s talk drywall – 88 sheets of ½” x 4’ x 8’ of it.  Well, maybe I should start talking about drywall from the beginning…

The story of drywall begins in Indianapolis, Indiana where I lived with then-husband (TH).  I’ll skip the part where he went behind my back and overpaid for a house and go straight to the part of “let’s unload this place and move back to Ohio!!!”  We hadn’t lived in the house long enough to get our money out of it, so we decided to finish the attic as a way to at least break even.  

I carefully drew up a floor plan for 2 bedrooms, a full bath, and sitting room.  I drew up more careful plans to update the wiring and plumbing.  I read books about how to do it all, and then I ordered stuff – a lot of stuff.  It came in a big truck, and 2 burly guys carted it all into my living room and stacked it in giant piles that strained the house’s foundation.

You know, it’s one thing to do the math about how many sheets of drywall it takes to finish an attic, and a whole other thing to actually look at 88 sheets of it piled in the middle of the living room.  There’s also the reality of a stairway that makes a 90 degree turn halfway up, which is in direct conflict with the fact that drywall doesn’t bend around corners – and none of that takes into consideration that sheet rock is HEAVY.  TH promised to help carry stuff upstairs, but yeah, he promised a lot of things.  I figured out ways to prop it up while screwing into the studs, and when I really pitched a fit about needing help with the ceilings, TH got his friend Don to give me a hand.  I’m pretty sure Don saved TH’s life right about then.

Anyhoo, we eventually sold the house and eventually got back to Ohio, and I listened to a lot of criticism about how I emasculated poor TH by being actually competent at such things, which is only one of many reasons why we settled our differences at the courthouse, and might lead you to wondering why I’m rambling on about sheetrock when I had a picture of a pail with seashells at the beginning of this post.

Well, because sometimes life can be a whole lot easier amongst females, and I spent time at the beach with 2 of my friends from high school this week.  Or in other words, I don’t feel like carrying anything heavier than a beach pail any more. 

We went to Kelley’s Island and stayed in a posh suite courtesy of Leanne.  We stuffed ourselves with the finest dining the island has to offer, joked about the young bucks by the pool, and the only heavy lifting I did was to pour more wine into my glass.  Mary Lou has been to the island many times before and acted as chauffeur and tour guide, which included searching the woods for a statue of Mary and finding this very cool abandoned building in the woods. 

We went to the beach and saw Cedar Point in the distance while the island breezes blew and the waves splashed around our legs and the seagulls swirled around in the air.  And talked, and talked, and talked, and talked… there’s a lot of life between high school and 2012.  I think I’m talked out for at least a month or two.  The ferry ride back to the mainland was a blast with huge waves crashing into the boat and loons flying backwards in the wind.  Good times.

Really Officer, I didn't know it was trespassing.  I just found this sign in the woods and thought I'd help with the litter problem :)

I did the beach pail art for Mrs. Fields.