If nothing ever changed, there'd be no butterflies. ~Author Unknown
When we arrived on the job Tuesday morning, Lupe was not happy.
He is a perfectionist, a condition to which I can relate. He had mixed the perfect color for the cement countertops, but when he went to apply it, he discovered that the concrete slabs installed by the workers in the casita and the studio bathroom were imperfect.
He knew why: they had used scraps of old wood to form them. They were not quite square. The bottoms were ragged. It was taking extra time for him to shape and finish them to his standards.
He simply could not, would not, work like this.
Although El Arqui uses the word "emergencia" more than I'd prefer, this actually qualified as one. Lupe is a good man, a good friend, a treasured maestro. We called a meeting with him and Benjamin, our wonderful construction supervisor, and Lupillo, our daily on-the-job-every-minute-of-the-day supervisor.
Lupe presented his case. His arguments were sound. Benjamin (behind Lupillo on the left) agreed.
He assured us he would buy new wood for the forms and told Lupillo to consult with Lupe as the rest of the counters were formed and poured.
Nothing nicer in my world these days than a happy maestro.Mollified, Lupe installed the sink in the casita baño. It's a Talavera sink in a pattern called pavo reál, which means "royal turkey", which means peacock.
I bought it in Tonala for twenty-three dollars.
Meanwhile, the plumbing and wiring are coming along nicely.
A few days ago, Francisco P, the carpenter, stopped by to measure for windows and grin his wicked gold-toothed grin. He's another maestro, a craftsman who has worked for many years with El Arquitecto. He's a hoot. One of these days we'll take a field trip to his sprawling woodshop, which is out in cow country east of Puerto Vallarta. But, for now, watch as he and his crew create a template for the arched window in the living room:
He is already building the casita windows and doors. We're still waiting for Salvage Guy to get it together to ship the old doors down so Francisco P can use some of them as interior cabinets and prepare the one that will be the door to the baño.
Now that Lupe's finished the casita countertops, Julian the tilesetter will arrive to lay the casita floor. First, though, they have to pour the cement floors in the terrace so they can move all the boxes of clay tile out of the casita to give Julian room to work.
But before they do that, they have to chip out all the hardened cement that's already on the terrace floor that's left over from mixing cement for other places and that doesn't belong there any more. Don't ask me--that's the way they do it.
Whispered aside: when I return in August, I plan to move in to the casita (knock on wood).
One day this week, I climbed the stairs from the studio to this transformation:
Primer!! So much for leaving the walls gray. Sorry, Allen and Dee. It's over, as they say down here.
An hour or so later, I came down the stairs to discover some guy I'd never seen before chipping huge holes in the wall above the terrace arches. Seeing the look on my face, Arqui said, "Those are for the beans," which is his charming word for big pieces of wood one puts overhead to hold up ceilings and such.
"Nyuh-uh," I replied. "Those beans are in the wrong place." And they were. Of course, due to the fact that they're constructing this house like a freaking fortress, these beans are decorative, not structural. But still, they can't be just any old where. So now they have to patch the giant holes and replaster them and reprimer them and then chip out new giant holes, but that's how it goes more often than you'd probably believe.
For a full half hour, five of us remeasured and refigured and divided by nine and then tried eight, and finally we determined where to put the new giant holes; so, in the end I'll have fewer beans farther apart, which is how I like my beans.
I went back upstairs. The sky was blue as the sparkling sea, our persistent overcast of the past week gone for now. The ocean breezes flowed and swooshed through the rooms. Palms danced, framed by every arched window. I walked out onto the bedroom terrace and watched two big yellow butterflies tumble past on a river of wind.
I stood there, grinning like a carpenter.
☀ ☀ ☀
Next week -- How about we venture up to Ajijic and see what's up with Tracy Guadalupe?
P.S. Still posting every Friday! Don't forget to RSS or come visit.
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