Three weeks and counting ~ February 4, 2004

David Heiller

Cindy and I are on the verge of moving into our new house. I hesitate writing that, because of the jinx factor, but I will forge ahead with the hope that all the sequences will fall into place.

Sequences are a big thing when you build a house. I swear they rival the chain of events in your average nuclear bomb.

I started noticing the Sequence Factor with Tim, our fine plumber. He really didn’t want to put the toilet into the bathroom until the trim was in. Otherwise, it would be harder for John to do his fine trim work.

And that trim work, well, it really should wait till Matt gets his floor registers in place. And Matt really needs Brad to get the furnace wired. And Brad should have that tile on the wall before he puts in the receptacles. But Will, the tile guy, needs the vanity in place first so he can work on that. And Casey should have the vanity done tomorrow, but he has to finish the trim first. Then when the trim is done, Tim can get going on those toilets.

Cindy and I have handled this Circle of Construction in different ways. Those primal screams you hear from the big gray house in Brownsville every few nights are coming from Cindy. I’m more apt to shrug my shoulders and do the old stiff upper lip routine. Not that that’s superior. Maybe it’s the Mars vs. Venus thing I mentioned a while back when Cindy was mulling over her paint colors.

Our home, worth the wait!

Either approach is an equally ineffective response. And that’s fine! Because it isn’t easy to build a house. It’s a mind numbing process that is much too complicated to spell out in this newspaper column. And all those guys I mentioned above have skills that truly amaze me.

So does Cindy. Hang on; this is a family newspaper. I’m talking about all the things she has had to research and order, like lighting and bathroom fixtures, the furniture, the flooring, the kitchen, and talking to contractors—and let’s not forget the paint.

Now we are like a sled at the top of a big hill, teetering on the edge of a great ride.

It should be ready in three weeks.

That’s the other fascinating thing I’ve learned from our contractors. Everything takes about three weeks.

When Tim was making headway on the plumbing back in October, he figured three weeks should wrap things up.

How the geo-thermal system coming, Matt? “Should be ready to test in about three weeks:”

The wiring? About three weeks, Brad said in November.

How about that tile work, Will? “I’d say we’ll be done in about three weeks.”

How’s the trim work coming, John? “Well, let’s see, we’ve got to stain and put on three coats of lacquer. I’d say three weeks should wrap it up.”

Any idea on that siding project, Paul? “Looks like a three week job.”

Almost!

Hey Dave, when will the kitchen be ready? “I should be down with it, oh, let’s say three weeks or so. But the floor really should be on first.”

There’s the beauty of it. The Sequence Factor and the Three Weeks Syndrome are interlinked. It’s like being in a beautiful Twilight Zone episode—beautiful because we can see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel now. The sled is heading down the hill. The ride is almost over, and that scream you hear from Cindy is one of joy. I might join in too in three weeks.