That Time I Thought I Could Do A Thing

   The last two years have been wracked with my failures. Which is fine, we all need to fail to move forward. It just sucks when you've crossed 50 and it's still happening and it, by the way, your career that you have failed at.
   Apparently I am a glutton for punishment, as I continue to look for Things To Fail At. Recently I chose Installing Hardwood Floors In The Small Spare Bedroom.

  Big History -When Jim and I owned the house on Grant, we did some minor renovations ourselves, relatively successfully, before giving in and hiring someone to do the kitchen. Which was a horrifying debacle and made us fear all renovation projects. Because I am a theatre teacher, I can build and design ish, for theatre. I paint hardwood floors or tile on the stage. I paint wallpaper or have wallpaper put on the flats. I do not use an air compressor for nails or staples, as they are a safety issue with students. I do it old school and I do it well enough for it to stand for two weeks, and then I demo the whole thing. When we moved into this house 18 years ago, it desperately needed updating. We carefully selected recommended handy men for the floors and painting and kitchen, and asked a family friend who did staging for realtors to design for us. We believed we would do the big stuff at that time, and come back the next year for the smaller rooms--the bedrooms and bathrooms. Then the bottom fell out in 2008 and most everybody knows Jim was unemployed for 3 years and we almost lost the house. We were able to hang onto it thanks to the grace of family, but the next step reno never happened, as digging out of that financial hole is still happening.

  Immediate History As we are shakily reclaiming our financial ground, we started feeling hopeful.We started talking about it. Last year we ripped out the carpet in the small spare room, and kept talking about putting in hardwood. But the truck needed an expensive tune up and tires. We had to buy a new car for Harp which needed new tires. I bought a new car. We know the truck is probably going to die soon and Jim will need a car. We hope the FJ will last G at least through December. Medical bills are stacking up. Student loans will be coming due soon. But notwithstanding, we have two kids with post secondary degrees and we made a plan to take out some equity and finish the house in September. While we're at it, maybe take a chunk out of the medical bills and help with student loans. Not rich, not buying a boat, just maybe finish the house. After two years of  applying and sounding off, it is heart breakingly clear that I cannot change buildings and Jim likes his job, so we aren't going to take off to Creede just yet. We're here at least ten more years, whaddya say we finish the damned house?
   We chat about these things at the bar with my dad. He volunteers to buy the materials for the floor and tells us "he knows a guy"* who can do it cheaply. I know it won't happen, so I keep drinking and Jim and my dad have conversations about wood floors. I know it'll never happen, but I don't want to upset anyone, so I just smile and nod when the subject comes up. Then one day the wood arrives in my garage, and of course---as predicted---dad's "guy" can't do it. I never said I would. But there is wood in my garage and Jim has said he'd like to try and get the floors done. He looked up How To Videos. And So we begin...


  Now that it's real, I want it done. I have no patience for living in construction, at all, and dammit something in my life needs to be completed. I decide I can probably do this, the video is detailed and I'm a functioning human. Here is a lovely bullet point to guide you:

•   Jim says he'll take off Friday and we'll rent the air compressor, nail gun and staple gun on Thursday night. On Weds when I ask about it, he says he doesn't think we're ready to start so he didn't take Friday off. Neigh Neigh I say, we're doing this, I gotta have control over something,and somebody needs to follow through on what they said or Immma take a hostage.
• We rent the air compressor, given no instruction by the Home Depot employee as to how to use it, because they don't know either. Jim's never used one. I've never used one. Already this is looking great.
• We lug the 400 pound thing up the stairs and turn it on, place three boards and nail them in. That was so easy, we got this!
• The compressor stops.
• We flip the switch, unplug it. It does not come back to life.
• I decide I'll return it tomorrow and text my sister in law, who put in her wood floors recently. 
• Her text back makes no sense to me "They turn off when they're full of air." 

Friday

•  I get up at 8 am to return the air compressor. G is returning to Durango today, and I don't want to miss her when she comes home to pack, so I wait until 9 to go to Home Depot.
• I lug the 500 pound thing into Home Depot and wait 15 minutes because nobody works at Home Depot.
• Someone emerges. I say "It's broken". They do not ask how I know this, or why I think it's broken, or bother to try it out. They just lug another air compressor at me and send me out the door.
• I lug the 600 pound air compressor up the stairs, hook it up, and turn it on. It runs for a minute, then shuts itself off. I re read my sister in law's text and use the nail gun with the compressor off. It works. AH! I see now, it's not on constantly,it fills with air and then shuts off. This would have been fabulous information to have before I lugged this 700 pound thing up and down my stairs and into my car and out of my car to Home Depot. wasting an hour and a half of my time.
• If you do not hit it directly on the button with the mallot, the nail will not fully submerge into the wood and you have to wrench the exposed nail completely out or the next plank won't line up.
• My walls aren't straight, so lining a 3/4  inch seam along the wall to allow for the floorboards as the video demonstrated, can't happen without causing the entire floor to have a crack running through it. I figured that out 6 rows in, and had to pull out 3 rows to fix it.
• Jim said the leftover wood from the other room would fit with the new wood. The guy at Lowes held up both sample pieces and demonstrated that they would fit together. They do not fit together once on a flat surface, however,  the grooves do not match up. No matter how much you pound.
• I texted my sister in law:"This doesn't match", "The Staple gun jammed" and "This is my Vietnam."  She called her boyfriend, who happened to be in my neighborhood, who came over and unjammed the staple gun (which I couldn't get to work), and explained the air compressor and checked it. All with a patient, kind demeanor of a real handy man who understands "teach a man to fish." I was grateful to him, and I know he and my sister in law both laugh about me. My sister in law texts " You're a mess" with a laughing/crying face. I build sets! I ran a theatre! I am not a mess! What time is it, is the pub open yet?
• I texted Jim photos of the uneven and unmatched wood, telling him no matter what, there is no way the old wood matches the new. We have gaps. It's now noon, I have eight rows done and I hate everything. I also point out that the wood planks will not make it from one end of the room to the other, leaving a nice 3/4 inch gap at the edge. None of the pieces line up that way, no matter how much math or Tetris you try to use. He says he knows, we'll have to cut the pieces to fit in there. Well OK then. Information I could have used.
• Schlepping the planks up the stairs from the garage causes enough nicks and scrapes in both the upstairs and and downstairs hallways to warrant needing paint jobs. I acknowledge this fact in my head as I throw the recent load on the floor and say out loud, to nobody "I'm not doing it."
• Harper is in the living room this entire time, did I mention that? At 1 pm we go to Starbucks, because the pub isn't open yet.
• I discover the longer planks are warped about 90% of the time. Depending on the warp, you may be able to pound the shit out of them to get them in. Some just won't go. They won't. I promise.
• Jim texts to tell me my dad is coming over. I ask why? He said "He's put in wood floors before, he can help" ** 
• My father arrives. He stands at the door to the room, whilst I am standing in said room and machine guns the following phrases at me: "This looks awful, look at those gaps, if this was my house I'd rip it up and start over, wouldn't you, this is a floating floor, what's that tool? Sigh, Sigh. What are you doing tomorrow? I'll come back and do this, this is a floating floor, I'm not yelling at you (he was totally yelling at me) but this is a floating floor it just snaps together and you don't need a nail gun, did you try to match the old wood with the new wood that's not going to work they don't match, why would you do that, it's a floating floor, when I did it with Marty we just snapped them in..." hit that on repeat for ten minutes, you get me.
• While my father is ripping apart my day with his criticism, Harper, from the living room, texts me the  google definition of a "floating floor" and the words "You're doing great, mom." 
• I know that this is not a "floating floor". This is wood, and it requires nails to install. I reply to the rat a tat of my father as best as I can, but I can only repeat the phrases "''cause the guy in the video said to do it this way" and "The guy at Lowes said they'd match", and "Dad, the longer planks are warped, it doesn't matter how much you pound they won't match up."
• Genoa enters the house, head full of steam over the previous night's family issue, adding to the black cloud threatening to engulf me. It's 3.30, the pub is open. I want to go to there.
• I walk away from my dad and sit in the living room chair across from Harp, contemplating just leaving everyone and going to the pub. Or maybe Creede. How much gas do I have?
• I say to Harper "that is not a floating floor." She smiles at me and nods agreement. "You're doing great, mom."
• Dad sits outside the bedroom on a chair, Genoa spins and whirls and leaves in a "Genoa"--very much like when the Tasmanian enters or exits---and I realize I'm going to cry. 
• Harp and I leave to run and errand, leaving dad behind and the garage doors open, so dad has to stay. I don't care. He can have the house. Jim can live with him.
• Jim gets home and tells dad that the Lowes guy said the wood would fit, the video said to use a nail gun and it's not a floating floor. Dad says "Oh, OK."  Just like that. No arguing, no disagreeing. Why? Well, Jim's a guy and my dad's sexist. Next.
• We all go to the pub.
• After the pub, Jim and I rip up the 8 rows I've done and Jim sets the first row against the wall---which he notes is not straight--and keeps saying things like "I see what you were saying" and "You figured out all the kinks for us." I just stare at him "You're welcome" and go to bed.
• On Saturday, Jim does most of the work and we get about 1/3 of the room done before we have to return the rental equipment.
• TWO WEEKS LATER, we rent another air compressor, intending to finish the floor. But Jim notes enough of the longer planks are warped and unusable that we may run out of wood.
• We run out of wood with 7 rows to go.
• Lowes does not have the wood in stock ,it has to be ordered.
• Home Depot does not have the wood in stock, it has to be ordered.
• We go to the pub.

        In conclusion, all in all, to sum up

• I have no control over anything in my life.
• I can add "install wood floors" to the list of things I cannot do.                    

*My dad always knows a guy, and in this case I saw the endgame clearly, as this "guy" is a divorcee from Peru living with my dad because he's broke and has legal issues. He is not going to do our wood floors, and I know that. I don't say as much, but I also don't really contribute to the conversation because when it comes to my dad I get very passive aggressive.
**My father has never installed wood floors before, and never, in our lives, has he been helpful to me. I love him and all, but he just gets mad when things don't go well, like bowling or the Broncos or home repairs.