Did some hard work lately. No, not the supreme effort that is composing this prose; rather, I rolled up my sleeves for some manual labor.
Did some hard work lately. No, not the supreme effort that is composing this prose; rather, I rolled up my sleeves for some manual labor.
This was more than the usual lawn mowing or weed pulling, which can be undertaken in bite-sized chunks of an hour here and there. No, the ties of friendship shad me offering assistance with more strenuous, time-consuming endeavors like installing a new faucet, sink flanges, and garbage disposal for my pal who upgraded his kitchen. Not having learned my lesson, I also stepped up to paint a few rooms for a chum preparing to sell the condo.
Mind you, hard work is not new to me. In my job history you’ll find an entry for hauling bricks and lumber as a construction laborer. You’ll note a stint as a temp for a major university’s plumbing department, who thought it better to underpay an undergraduate to dig ditches than have their staff take a spade to the dirt.
You’ll see the 6-days-per-week, 10-hour overnight shifts assembling luxury cars for Ford, as well as plenty of heavy lifting for a landscaping firm. And you'll also uncover long days spent refinishing floors and stripping siding at the old house, chores taken on because I was too cheap to pay someone else.
But in the past couple of decades, I’ve left the physical work for those younger and stronger, choosing instead to take a supervisory role.
But the recent projects reminded me of what I was missing. There is nothing like being crammed underneath a kitchen sink on your back, desperately trying to fit the parts together until nothing leaks. I believe it absolutely appropriate that plumbers receive the wages they do; if nothing else, they are able to twist their bodies into unnatural shapes.
Painting is pretty straightforward, but not something I have done for a long time. The last time my former wife decided a color upgrade was due at my former home, I let her apply the paint, something she said she enjoyed.
I had forgotten many of painting’s challenging details, like the necessity of lying on the floor to get close to the wall/ baseboard edge, but craning my neck up and back so as to see through the reading portion of my bifocals. Repeat this painful craning atop a ladder to cut the ceiling/ wall edge.
In both plumbing and painting, my muscles and joints had to stretch, flex, and hold in ways they were assuredly unaccustomed to.
And those body parts certainly reminded me of their unfamiliar movements for days afterward.
If nothing else, I have a renewed respect for those whose livelihoods depend on being physical. From the surefooted men affixing new roofs to the strong hands slogging and smoothing concrete to the hardworking field laborers enduring heat and dust to pick what comes to my table, these people earn their daily bread with far more sweat and strain than I believe I’d be capable of.
I am in awe of them, and will suggest they be called the next time a friend asks about a home project.
Pat Grimes, a former South Bay resident, writes from Ypsilanti, Mich. He can be reached at pgwriter@inbox.com
