This Day to Night

2024.07.02

Delivering

14 bedrooms

18 bathrooms

16,000 square feet 

Inside 16 months

In only one house

Decisions

And strangeness of “why?” 

Routine begins at 5:30 a.m.—

But if I lived further from work—

It’d start well before.

In a way—

Regardless, it does.

Most mornings—

Between 3 and 5:30 a.m.—

I’m half awake—

Half dreaming—

Intermittently checking the clock—

Dazedly pondering—

The upcoming day’s outrageous collection of tasks—

To keep pushing forward—

To keep up momentum—

To return the good homeowners home. 

At this point—

I’m almost ashamed to admit—

Even when I intentionally step back—

I’m at a loss whether I’m numb to the flaming knife-juggling challenge—

Or whether with the right motivation and collective team talent, these aren’t true problems at all.

I’ll be honest—

Yes, this was a sizeable job—

And up until the very last days—

I confidently doubt—

Anyone else saw the finish line coming—

Except we kept focus.

For a full 16 months—

On site from 6:30 a.m. onwards—

To as late as 8 p.m. when I had to—

There was work every day—

End of day emails to the homeowners documented all of it—

No days at all without workers on site—

No days off for Matthew—

Sometimes exceeding 20,000 walking steps in a day—

Averaging somewhere around 10400—

Peaking at 64 flights of stairs in 24 hours—

Up and down—

Down and then back—

Planning, directing and doing—

Keeping things light when we could—

Deathly serious when it was called for—

And I can acknowledge—

To get it all done—

It necessitated so many things being taken too far. 

14 bedrooms—

18 bathrooms—

16,000 square feet renovation addition—

Relocating the whole house’s existing mechanical to establish clear path for the new elevator—

Work backwards to automate the whole house’s lighting—

Rip out original, then install 3400 square feet of new stone driveway—

Say, ok, let’s assemble on ground, then lift and lower the house’s new roof into place by creating a crane from an all-terrain forklift—

Crawl through the attic, trapeze-ing through trusses, in the hottest afternoon Hells of the summer, showing Alexei where to connect bathroom fans to roof vents from the topside—

Channeling a twist of my very own sister, playing the role of therapist to Mischa and Mike—

Helping 76 year old men lift 3/4 inch thick 4 foot x 9 foot quartzite slabs and install—

Platform bridging 500 some odd feet of two level roofline to scaffold with carpenters, using that to re-stucco and paint the whole soffit, and effectively, for a short time, turning the 2nd floor of the house to a treehouse—

Keeping the master bedroom from crashing through to the main floor level dining room, holding that section of house with wood shoring support as we Frankenstein the building’s exterior wall with steel columns and beams to soon house a single two panel 16 foot long sliding glass door—

Correcting disrespect between trades—

Working through my own disagreements with trades—

Never wandering far—

“Matthew!” being shouted from three floors at once—

Relaying details—

Filling in voids with my own details—

Obsessed OCD—

A to Z Planning—

Using my tools—

Using my head—

Helping our labourers—

Working hard cleaning up, moving material, heavy lifting beyond what I had to—

Putting young, eager, hard working youth in positions to grow and learn and move on—

Meeting new peers—

Reconnecting with old faithful’s too—

Bidding goodbye to Yuri as he retires and heads home to Russia—

Being a strange psycho sponge—

Blowing the dust off the top of each individual book, post-construction cleaning the 25 foot high library bookshelves—

Climbing the roof—

Catching spring sunrise and sunset—

Looking out at the ravine, backing up onto the 600 foot deep lot—

Managing myself—

Extending myself—

Doing more than I should—

As much as I could—

Knowing it’s my name neck and insurance on call—

And why?

When I first saw this job—

I said in my head—

“This’ll be more work than you wanted”—

“And I can deliver what these homeowners want.”

From the very first moment I met them—

I knew they deserved what they want.

This is a family—

A second generation immigrant family—

That’s given more good—

Employed more people—

Built stronger community—

Donated more money—

Raised more charity—

And treated more people well—

Than most of anyone in their equal position would ever consider even trying. 

Working for them, it’s my pride and pleasure—

And I’m immeasurably grateful for their belief in us all.

On the surface—

14 bedrooms—

18 bathrooms—

It sounds like a lot—

Because it is a whole lot—

But when you’ve got five kids—

And each kid is married—

And each kid has multiple kids—

And you’ve got the means to lend each their own space—

Yet spend time together—

Under one roof—

To treat and host all of them…?

I remember—

Friday nights—

As a very young kid—

Being with my parents and sister—

In my parents’ car—

Driving home from my grandparents—

Where we had just finished dinner—

With my aunts, my uncles and my older cousins—

Laughing—

Sharing—

Maybe catching the Jays game or late season Raptors—

And driving home—

It wasn’t too far.

I can’t say how late it was—

But for sure it was night, and it was that late spring season night pitch of deep dark. 

To put off heading straight home—

My sister and I—

Sometimes we’d ask our parents—

“Can we see the dead-end on the ride?”

That dead-end street—

It’s a few blocks from home—

Driving past houses en-route—

Looking back—

It’s such a strange thing. 

To “see” the dead-end—

To peek out the car’s window—

The unceremonious end of a street, ravine dropping off beyond guardrail—

To reach it and then to turn back—

Buying time before bed-time—

Whether it was one time or each time—

I remember a sign.

On the drive there—

On the way back—

Neon blue numbers—

House numbers—

Tucked ten feet in from the street—

Glowing out, nestled inside a thick planted berm of tall prickly pines—

The house itself, another hundred feet in past beyond…

As far as dead-ends go—

It wasn’t my sign—

But inside the car—

Amidst the AC—

Unaware that neon won’t produce heat—

Still in my soul—

I felt and caught the blue warmth of that sign.

This specific job’s scope—

It began as an avalanche—

Then snowballed so drastically—

Out of the blue, I’d catch myself smiling—

Picturing Scrat the Sabre-toothed Squirrel—

Chasing the acorn rolling downhill—

Except me—

I’d catch it—

I’d make it in time—

Without freezing first, I’d run through the ice age, then run further past. 

The technical challenge here—

Extending existing structure—

Seamless transition from old to new—

Both inside and out—

Not just tacking on—

The true proper look, like it was there all along—

Joining a house to a house—

That’s a trip by itself—

But the professional relationship management aspect of all of it—

It’s incredible seeing the collective “buy-in” when people recognize the way that you care—

The indefatigable mentality of “it takes what it takes”—

“There’s always a way”—

And when you stick with it—

It doesn’t matter what needs to get done. 

I’m not shy to voice it—

Acknowledging when it’s deserved, which tends to be often—

When a peer matches the level of care and quality of work that’s required—

Works early—

Works late—

Helps someone else—

Thinks ahead for execution further along—

Simply being reliable—

Completes a big or small task, bringing us just that bit closer—

I’ll say their first name—

Then say sincerely—

“Thank you—“

“You did a great job.”

Across the course of the job—

I can’t count the count of repeating that song. 

No false praise—

No fluff—

No taking for granted the help that’s gone on.

Projects this size—

With so many interrelated fine details and factors—

The process of “making it happen”—

Half of it is somewhere between an art and a magic—

And the other—

Simply—

It’s boring, unshaking commitment to waking each day—

Stacking experience to keep raising your “best”—

Comfort pushing the pace of the process all by yourself—

Inviting all help—

Offering fair trade to trades for the service they offer.

At the end of the day—

We’re here to do well—

Which means working hard.

I now understand—

In a fundamental, unequivocal way—

Plenty of worthwhile endeavours, they’re technically possible—

Yet they’re untried because they’re too “tough”—

And no one took ownership, or with conviction just said—

“This is worth doing, I’ll do it, and I’ll be responsible.”

Now, regarding all this, maintaining this culture and quality—

It means calling out any cut corners—

Explaining the standard and way to correct them—

And if there’s push back—

You’re likely not fit for the job—

So I start making calls.

First judgement calls—

Then phone calls—

Then calls to myself. 

“Matthew, don’t get sucked in—“

“Don’t waste the energy—“

“Don’t start a fight—”

“There’s still much to do—“

So at the outset, inform them calmly—

“Thanks for your work, but your work here is no longer required.”

By then—

I’ve already informed their employer—

Let them know to send someone new—

And not to send the first worker back, until they’re prepared to commit to the work of the job. 

That’s just how she goes—

The world stays spinnin’ round—

Our work rolling still on—

And it’s taken missteps to learn that move properly.

Through multiple jobs—

Growing into a job—

Working alongside so many original peers from when I first started—

I’m proud of all of them.

The reason I am who I am—

It’s consequence of all of them. 

Experience—

And care—

As much as they’re learned—

Within the right place, they’re also caught.

My co-workers—

My tribute to all of them—

It’s paying attention to how they look—

When I direct work decisively—

Doing my best to be certain we’re right—

Inevitably, sometimes still being wrong—

And if that’s the case—

I put that on me—

And without delay—

Just re-group, correct and keep carrying on.

I know they remember—

Just where we were—

How far I’ve come-

Since I first came along. 

In the blink of an eye—

Disasters can happen. 

Doing work safely—

Mitigating the most possible risk—

The most you can do—

Might still not be enough. 

Maintaining your focus—

Always throughout—

That’s the responsibility of the role I took on. 

Some accidents—

They’re impossible to be paid out of pocket.

Some workers—

In the midst of their work—

They can lose sight of where they are.

Heights—

Heat—

Heavy machinery—

High voltage—

High powered saws—

Heavy material—

Physical harm—

Life threatening hazards. 

I’m still green to this world—

Five years of construction, this coming August—

But consciously, I won’t allow myself to be at ease within this environment. 

Yes, accidents can happen at any time—

But most cases—

If it’s not caused by fatigue—

They’re often a function of those disrespecting the inherent risks of the job. 

Distractions—

A phone call, a text—

Not being careful enough, just walking around—

They’re merciless producers of catastrophic results, capable of changing and even ending a life.

Each tool commands caution—

Each task commands sober assessment of what could go wrong. 

In executing the overall plan, I remind myself constantly—

It’s beyond just the homeowners I have to get home. 

The last final stretch—

It’s a sprint of a month—

But each time you blink—

Days slip you by.

Your phone calendar—

It’s now a timeline to empty the tank.

Counting days left—

No panic, slim rest—

Finish one task, then jump to the next—

All hands on deck—

Then all hands off deck—

Powerwash team arrives for the deck—

Day after day, roll into the next—

Roll out of bed—

Roll into work—

Roll through the challenge—

Roll on back home—

Rinse and repeat—

Rinse then repeat—

Try not to blink—

Still try to sleep—

Lunch on your feet—

Still so much dust—

Vacuum, don’t sweep—

Productive long days—

Ten second nights—

Complete, complete, complete—

Then all nice and neat—

It’s never that neat. 

It’s near end of day—

Friday at about 5 o’clock. 

Parked on the street—

Reviewing outgoing and incoming calls—

Composing my daily site update—

The email addressing the homeowners, now already moved home. 

In a hard earned wiped state—

I’m proud of today’s post-move-in tweaks—

Tying loose ends, until they’re all wrapped. 

After nearly 64 weeks—

Body and mind, too tired to debate which needs more sleep—

My focus a mess—

So in my seat I sit back—

Set down my phone—

Start to breathe deep, slowly closing my eyes. 

The weight on my shoulders—

With each passing breath—

The weight recedes further—

Like lapping of waves cleansing soul and the mind. 

Aware of myself—

Aware of my energy—

Aware I’m just here—

And here, acceptance of being just as I am.

I’m incredibly proud of my work—

Both on-site and off.

I’m incredibly proud of my work—

Especially being so selective of the work I take on.

I’ll give myself credit—

But never more credit than what’s due to be mine. 

Whether I’m proud of myself—

It’s a moment-by-moment assessment—

A tally kept running long term—

Still being stacked—

Never surpassing one step at a time.

My work after-hours—

It’s one of two reasons I took all this on. 

I can’t predict the end-all result—

But in my own head, I’ve seen the path of becoming myself, the development journey it takes to march further on.  

This strange experience, however surreal—

It’s taught a lot—

Most of all, the compulsory importance—

Of trusting yourself—

Of being yourself—

Calmness in being creative, working through any challenge directly head-on. 

In my truck—

Bringing myself back to breathing—

24 months since pre-planning we said—

“Let’s take on the work”—

“I don’t care what it takes”—

“We’ll get it done”—

The extent of care that it takes—

To not even care what it takes—

Especially—

Personally knowing the toll that’ll take—

I’m relaxed in my breathing—

Peaceful enjoyment just breathing—

Until out my wide open window—

Playful voices ahead—

Two toddler grandkids—

A girl and a boy—

Holding hands with their grandmother—

My employer, the homeowner—

Returning here and back home from a neighbourhood walk. 

Parked a short way’s away—

I don’t interfere—

I don’t interrupt—

Instead, starting to press “send” on my email—

I only sense strangeness and stop—

The young grandson, he’s looking—

Sees something near me—

I stop and stop breathing—

Following his gaze to a spot. 

Here—

Far beyond thankful—

I’m grateful.

Here—

Parked past the berm—

It’s easy to say—

“It takes what it takes.”

And easier still—

“Plan it all perfect, it’ll work fine.”

But as the grandson spots the house numbers—

Original—

Untouched—

Nestled neon blue sign—

Right then and there—

I say Matthew—

The warmth—

The weight—

The work I call mine—

Jobs, they’re easy to take—

But finishing lines—

Trust your selection of those that are worth it—

And before beginning—

Trust you’re not reaching—

Instead only working—

Your consistency—

Commitment—

And self—

All creating that line.

Strange how dead-ends—

They’re fit for full-circles—

Karmic rides of harmonious kind. 

From This Day to Night,

Love even odd days, especially those where what’s left is too right.