Oklahoma Dreaming: Week From Hell

by Donna Schoenkopf

last time: sitting

I am pulled between two places. My kids are 1500 miles away in California. I want to be with them. They are dealing with the maybe impending death of their father. There is no way to tell what will happen to him. The kids hover, take care of all his unfinished business, of which there is a LOT. I use my house building money to fly out to be with them. We are an emotional, intelligent, funny family. We laugh and cry together. I see that they are handling everything. They are fabulous. I return to Oklahoma ...

Where my teenage nephews are dealing with exactly the same thing except they have their aunties to help them with the work part of closing down their family home. The aunties are fighting. Not out loud, but with curt sentences, frowns, bossiness, and resentment. We are not being our best selves. We each think we know the best way to deal with the crisis. Feelings are running high.

Did I tell you that both fathers have almost killed themselves with drugs in dramatic, newsworthy ways, to leave their children alone and scared? Did I tell you that both fathers are funny and generous and beloved by their kids? Did I tell you that I, too, love these men with all my heart?

Well, now I have.

In the middle of all this I build my house.

The steel trusses and posts have been painted by me on the hottest day of planet Earth. They lie on their sides, covered with red clay dust. Raccoon foot/hand prints run across a pile of the posts. I think they're cute. Peewee thinks the raccoons "need to have the air let out of 'em."

It is a beautiful fall day. Perfect temperature. High blue sky. Top of the hill. Peewee rolls the trailer with the generator and welding equipment up to the foundation. He has a welding mask and ladders and a large level, a battery operated screw gun, screws, tape measure, gloves (which he is never without) and long handled snow (?) tool of some type.

My job is to take the level measurements, push up a beam to Peewee to weld, ease the giant truss onto its perch at the top of steel post with the long handled snow (?) tool by gently pushing it through the air toward its destination as Peewee dangles it from a rope tied to his back hoe. The truss barely swings (I have learned to be very gentle with my movements), and the darn thing sits perfectly at the top of two steel posts opposite each other. Then Peewee climbs off the backhoe, up the ladder and clamps the truss into place, I measure to see if it is level, Peewee backs down the ladder, puts on his welding equipment, climbs back up the ladder with his welding equipment and welds it into place.

This is done fourteen times. Peewee has knee pads on. He says his knees are giving out after climbing ladders so much. He works harder than anyone I know. We talk as we work. Peewee has a million stories. Every one is funny. I laugh a lot.

Up the ladder, measure, down the ladder, get the screw gun and screws, hold the level. At the end, with all those posts and trusses and welding and lifting and swaying and WORKING we are only 1/8 of an inch off the last beam and truss. Which is quickly fixed. The man is a genius.

I ask him how much longer he's going to do this. He says he's going to build himself one of these buildings and that will be the last one. His knees can't take it. He says he's just gonna do 'dozer work or drive a truck again.

I tell him about the hawk that swooped down on me and the dragonfly that danced in front of my face and ask him if that's ever happened to him before. He says no. That surprises me. Maybe I am magic. Or not. Maybe it happens to him all the time and is such a regular occurrence he never notices.

I call a man named Gary who SherryLynn has recommended for painting. I am NOT painting again, thank you very much.

Gary is a giant Indian, SherryLynn says, "but very nice." He comes into SherryLynn's restaurant which is in the middle of nowhere on route 177. She grinds her own Angus beef every morning. Construction guys, people from small hamlets, me, visit her for lunch. She's pretty and has a big, friendly husband named Elmer who gives me free coffee and refills. The hamburgers are fabulous. Hefty, juicy.

I tell Elmer a joke about his name. My ex-brother-in-law told me this joke long ago. His name is Elmer, too. He said he got a name book and looked up his name to see what it meant. The book said, "Nobody is really named Elmer."

Elmer looks at me and doesn't laugh. I can tell he feels hurt. I tell him immediately it's a joke name book. Now I am sad because he probably thinks I've insulted him. California humor. I guess it doesn't translate too well. When I tell Peewee a joke about God, he doesn't laugh either. I wonder why I think Oklahoma humor is funny, but they don't think California humor is funny. I'm going to think about this.

 

So now I have the frame of my house built. It's beautiful. I walk around "inside" and imagine looking through the sliding glass doors that will run the length of the south wall. Sixty feet of sliding glass doors. It can't be more beautiful. Peewee likes it, too. He talks about how he crouched down before he marked the foundation to see if people sitting in the house could actually see the pond while sitting.

He knows exactly what I'm trying to do.

What a team.

next time: I just want to be a good person