[SB] Sabbath Blessing

[Molly Wolf]

Demolition

Over the last four weeks, since I took possession of my new-to-me house, 
it's been a blur of packing, moving, painting, painting, painting (still at 
it), and demolition. I am an experienced if inexpert painter (and thank 
God, I've had badly needed help!).  I've done more than enough moving to 
know the score. But this is the first time I've done much in the way of 
demolition., and it's been a revelation

The new house underwent substantial renovations in the 1940s and again in 
the 1980s, and some of the results were fortunate (wiring, plumbing, 
windows) and some were less so (awkward built-in furniture). Moreover, some 
of the 1980s renos were well past their sell-by date and needed excision. 
The dining room carpet, for example, which was about a decade past its 
wear-out point.

I learned the basics of demolition very quickly. Try to identify, if you 
can (and you usually can) which was the last bit to be nailed on and attack 
that first. Use a big old slot screwdriver as a chisel and a hammer to 
drive it it; learn to use the claw end of the hammer to chivvy along the 
tearing-out business. Loose it up, move along, loosen again, and eventually 
whatever-it-is yields to (usually quite gentle) persuasion and can be 
carted out back, waiting to be hauled away.

There were exceptions. I turned my two strapping young-adult sons loose on 
the horrible built-in desk and bookcases in what was originally a sewing 
room; I got out from underfoot and let them get on with it, which they did, 
quite intelligently. I am glad that I brought them up so well, as they 
showed considerable grace and good humour in fighting over who got to use 
the crowbar, although the younger one did end up remonstrating that he'd 
not had a full 50% of time with that beloved instrument. They had a blast. 
(And they learned the basic principle of demolition, as they also learned 
some basics about painting. It's very kewl when your kids turn out to be 
actively helpful.)

Later, as I ripped out the horrible dining room carpet, I found myself 
moving slowly, almost thoughtfully. I scythed across the yards of worn-out 
berber with a miniature scimitar, with long, slow, purposeful cuts. I 
pulled up the tacks that held down the falling-apart underpad; I used 
hammer and screwdriver to lift the tack-down edging, prickly as a crab's 
claw, and the claw of the hammer to prise up the metal sills, five of them 
-- the dining room is full of doors. It was oddly gentle, low-key work.

I thought how often we see what needs to be corrected and go after it 
hammer-and-tongs; we want to take a wrecking ball to it, or go in 
blistering with energy and righteous anger and set it all to rights 
immediately. It's partly the energy we get from facing each other's 
failings instead of our own, partly the joy of sheer adrenaline, and partly 
a sort of daredevil "Hey ma, watch this!" cowboy approach: we'll just wade 
in, fix the problem, and that will be that.

Sometimes, as in the civil right movement and the disposal of concrete-silo 
grain terminus elevators, you really do need to light a major charge under 
something and blow it up; some things are too large, too well established, 
and impossible of gradual demolition. But mostly, dynamite is not the 
answer. Mostly, dynamite just lands us with a gawdalmighty mess.

Most metanoia, like most demolition, is a gentler, more gradual process: 
finding out where the last piece was nailed on and working gradually 
backward, not too fast, a bit at a time, taking the time to carry out the 
detritus and deal with it properly instead of letting it pile up. It's a 
thoughtful process, quiet and introspective. That's sometimes what we have 
the most trouble with.

I've seen up close and personal what happens when  we refuse to do any 
demolition at all -- when we simply shut off that room: not going to go 
there, not going to set that to rights, because it looks like such hard 
work and it's better "just to move on". That doesn't work. We lose the use 
of the room when we shut it off, and we leave it full of baggage that 
inevitably takes on a life of its own, with consequences.

But conversely, I'm now looking at metanoia with a gentler more thoughtful 
eye. Progress, not perfection, as they say in the program. I'd have worn my 
middle-aged body right out if I'd waded into that carpet-expulsion at high 
speed; it was work that needed thought and sufficient slowness -- not 
drifting to a dead halt, but not pushing too hard either. I've been pushing 
hard, after all, for weeks and weeks now.

I have to accept that in demolition of all sorts, sometimes the process 
isn't a high-powered one, but something that takes gentleness, time, a 
certain willingness to scoot across large areas on one's butt, quietly 
exercising some quite simple hand tools -- cutter, hammer, screwdriver, 
pliers....

I learned something about patching plaster this time, too, but that's 
another story.