Wednesday, January 13, 2016

How Many Marathon-Running Women Does it Take to Hang a Clock?

Three. I know because I was involved in such a task last night. It must also be noted that one of the women must be of Herculean cross-fit strength, able to flip tires and dead lift copious amount of weight (ahem* Karen). This is especially true if said clock comes from Urban Barn, is ginormous and weighs a gazillion pounds. Which, for the record, it did. Oh, there also needs to be an electric drill, a Home Depot card and enough knowledge (or charm to ask for assistance) to know what type of plugs to buy. And, finally, a young male doberman is required. He doesn't help in any way. He is there just for show and moral support.
I feel like there has been an incredible amount of changes in the last six months. I, and many around me, are in the midst of transitioning from one season to another in their lives. Some of my long-standing business relations have decided to pitch for another team, totally re-vamping my working career, and my body is not allowing me to run any more due to ligament injuries. My niece just had a new baby and my dear friend, Lyndsay, just celebrated her beautiful wedding! The only thing constant in life is change.
The clock was symbolic of a new season another friend was entering. The near-empty living room and missing furniture were paint strokes, colouring a new era that was about to begin. New memories, hopes and life needed to be created to fill the now empty space. Existing deep sadness coexisting with the hope and promise of future happiness; all in the same bundle of mixed and confused emotion.
The biggest challenge with the clock (besides trying to lift it; I have the upper body strength of gnat. Running does not require great amounts of arm strength) was figuring out how to get the drill bits in and out of the drill itself. It took every ounce I of restraint I possessed not to rip the drill from Karen's hands and press each and every fancy button in attempt to figure out how it worked. However, Karen had a different plan. She read the manual. Other than the one page IKEA picture-instructions, I don't think I've ever actually read a manual. It is quite an efficient way to figure something out. Who knew? Maybe that is why she works in management and IT and I, well, I simply don't.
Lyndsay kept a respectable and neutral distance between herself and the high-powered drilling device, careful not to interfere with Karen reading the instructions and me hovering, occasionally grabbing the drill rudely right from her hands to randomly press some buttons.
In the end, logic prevailed and Karen was up and running, power tool locked and loaded. From there on, it was very simple--if you don't count the requirement of Grade 10 geometry, a calculator, measuring, remeasuring, drilling, holding the clock up, gently getting it on the hooks. I am glad to announce the no dobermans were harmed in the hanging of the clock.
It looked fantastic! We all took turns pretending to walk in the front door and seeing the fantistical clock for the first time, “ahhing” and “cooing” in deep admiration. I sincerely hope that wasn't a large “thud” in the middle of the night...I wasn't going to wait around to find out.
Although anything but a celebration, there may or may not have been vegan pizza, kale chips, and some people may or may not have partaken in martinis of the chocolate persuasion, however, somehow, and I am not sure how, three women and a doberman ended up dancing around an empty living room.
I have to be honest, I don't like every change of season in my life. However, it did occur to me last night that I have little control over most of these changes and whether I embrace or resist them, the big, heavy clock of time keeps ticking. Sometimes the only--and best--thing we can truly do is to stop labelling the changes “good” or “bad”, eat vegan pizza, and simply dance into the new season of our lives.
Since originally penning this post over a year ago, David Bowie has passed. I guess he had the same sentiment. Let's Dance.

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