The Drywallers

"They work really well as a team," Jack says.

The seven kids and I shimmed into our basement library, we visit over a makeshift dinner. Shored up on a couch, an ottoman, miscellaneous stools and lawn furniture, bookshelves along all the walls, we sit. Homemade salads and cold burgers balanced on our knees, we visit. A master drywaller and his two children smooth our kitchen together upstairs. Experts. Artists.

"Just really well, they work really well together," he says again.

"That's an interesting observation," I say. "What makes you say that?" Out of the corner of my eye I see Betsy's bowl, salad juice bloomed over the edge. She optimistically fills her spoon. Half a cherry tomato falls off her fork, over her knees, rolls under the couch, rice in it's wake.

"They each know their part," Jack says.

"Yup," I say.

"They're not like, What should I do now?" he says. He mimics the annoying I-don't-like-to-work voice. He nods, a faraway glaze in his eye.

I replay the scene I think he's picturing where Kevin hands a smoothing cloth to his dad, nary a word between them. In the same motion, all twelve years of him, he hold his father's drywall knife. Then, as if playing by heart they switch back and move down the wall. It's art and affection, the interplay between, adoring son eyes, attentive, obedient, watching out of the corner of his eye how to be tall and strong and good.

"Yup," I say. "They do it well." The others nod between crunching bites of salad.

"They really do," Jane says. Lucy nods. Myra nods too but more out of agreement with the group than any passion about the topic. Joe and Betsy elbow each other on the double camping chair.

Working together. The images emblazoned, the practiced two-step of obedience and initiative, the dance partners of work, art, and play, we trace their countenance until we can spot it amidst the camouflage of regular life. So subtle, so outrageous, apparently unmistakable to the eleven-year-old eyes there kitty-corner from me and to the gaggle of siblings nodding applause.





Gratitude:

6266. Stainless steel bowls to use in the rustic alternate kitchen set up in the basement.

6367. We take an afternoon to hunt grasshoppers.

6368. We begin to form a more cohesive way of working together in the middle of inconvenience, disorder, and irritation. As we meditate on the challenges, I remind the children (and myself) that even the weak appear strong when there is no challenge. When things are difficult, that is where our true character shows.

6369. We set our minds to be made stronger, kinder, and more suited to whatever the future holds.

6370. I remind myself that getting enough sleep is a small kindness I can give and should.

6371. Invisible peace begins to settle on us. The moments grow more precious. We begin to see the blinking eyes behind each face and love them.

6372. And somewhere in the middle of it all Craig works more on the kitchen. It continues to take shape. Family continues to help us masterminds problems and solve road blocks. The project marches forward, miraculous.

6373. Something inside of me grows less afraid of everything in life and more mindful of the good right in front of me.