Homebodies - Working with Rose...

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Published on Saturday, October 29, 2016

By Rita Friesen

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It was a day of little jobs. Well, one was bigger than I expected, but that was because I was working with Rose.

The task at hand was putting up one string of holiday lights. Blue, energy efficient lights across the front of the garage. Involved a ladder, on a firm, straight slab of concrete. I assembled the tools. Half inch staples in the trusty staple gun, light weight hammer, should it be needed and a pair of pliers. And the string of lights. I ascertained which end needed to be where and proceeded. There was a row of broken staples up there, from when I unceremoniously removed the old lights. (Stood on the ground and pulled them down.) Plan was to work around them. The voice of Rose, in my head, instructed me to remove the staples, place them in a safe place and dispose of them properly. That slowed me down. But I listened. Started at the far end and laboured at carefully stapling the new string up. Voice in the head, Rose’s, said - don’t break the covering on the wires. Working with my hands above my head is not comfortable. Being near the top of the ladder is not comfortable. I worked out a safe way to get the job done. Up and down the ladder, refurbishing the staples, twisting the triple green wires. Got to the near end, and the string was twelve inches short of it’s desired destination. Sat down, assessed the situation, and once again heard Rose in my head. “When doing a job, do it with might. A thing done halfway is never done right.” A cup of coffee later, strong coffee, I was back up the ladder. Starting at the far end, I more carefully aligned the light bulbs, keeping the wires taunt. Painstakingly removing the staples, not tugging the wire, re-stapling the line, up and down the ladder, moving the ladder, and finally, the sixteen-foot line of lights covered sixteen feet of garage. Standing there, reviewing my job, I noticed that not all the lights hung down, some were tilted east and some west. An extra staple on the other side of the light would remedy that. Was it really important? And then the voice of Rose sounded again. “Nothing but your best.” What I wanted to hear was Ed’s voice – “He who drives fast doesn’t see it and he who sees it, thinks it should be that way!” Rose’s voice was louder. Back up and down the ladder, moving along the row, snapping in another staple.

There are times I welcome the voice of Rose, my mother. She was a stickler for cleanliness and order and doing a job right. Less than one’s best was not good enough. That applied to housework, sewing, cooking, baking and carpentry. She was good at all of that. Not a bad philosophy.