Reflections - Building Relationships

Dave and Sparky Staining Shiplap under the Pines

I couldn't believe what he said. Raising eyebrows and tucking my chin, I transmitted skepticism to my grown son.

Charlie stood behind his kitchen chair. He didn’t repeat, I’ll sleep on the basement floor. When he’d heard Spence and my friends from Oregon would visit the second weekend in May, Charlie decided to give up the guest room where he’s stayed since UPS transferred him to Meadville last summer.

But that Thursday, March 23, a mountain of empty Amazon boxes plus tables and shelves holding garden supplies, tools, and pamphlets for lead safe volunteer work in Cleveland cluttered the unfinished basement. In addition, an ample scattering of potting soil, cobwebs, and dust covered everything—not the atmosphere for sleeping. “On the concrete floor?”

“I’ve slept on the floor before.”

“Don’t be silly.”

Charlie pressed his lips together and crossed his arms over his chest.

I didn’t argue. We needed another room. Charlie and Spence had discussed a basement bedroom for years. Considering a room without windows ridiculous, I postponed the project saying “maybe someday.” Someday arrived. I called Sparky.

The following Sunday morning, David Sparks of Sparky’s Handyman Services, and I paced the perimeter of a basement bedroom. “This side goes straight to the post then angles toward the bathroom. That leaves space for me to wibble-wobble when I come off the steps.”

Sparky jotted in his notebook as though all his customers wibble-wobble off steps and want pentagon-shaped rooms. “What about a door, Miss Janet?”

“Charlie wants a six-foot open space for a room divider or hanging something—a curtain or beads.

Sparky laughed and pawed the air with one hand. “I can see your cats tearing the beads.”

His metal tape crinkling, Sparky measured and studied the angle from the support post. “I’ll make an archway. It’ll look real nice. What kind of walls do you want?”

Settling on shiplap boards made at his Amish neighbor’s hemlock lumberyard, we moved onto the bathroom—finishing with wood, replacing the sink that slanted so couldn’t hold a bar of soap, and adding a utility tub.

“I’ll work up a plan and order the wood.” Sparky tucked the notebook into his pocket. “Look at Home Depot’s website. Pick out the fixtures you want.”

Bedroom Framing

Charged up, I sat at the kitchen table for hours staring at the Home Depot website.

Spence wouldn’t offer an opinion. “Your project. You chose.” But he helped when I growled and slammed my fist against the table making tea splash out of my mug.

He set his computer down and crossed the great room to the kitchen. “Calm down.”

“It won’t let me pay online so Sparky can pick the five fixtures up in Meadville.” With heavy sighs, I explained because the vanity was in stock at Hermitage, I couldn’t order one in Meadville. Plus I couldn’t pay for fixtures in stock and order two others at the same time.

Placing a hand on my shoulder he said, “I don’t want you worrying. I’ll stop what I’m doing. I’ll buy the ones in Hermitage and Meadville.” He grabbed his jacket. “Email Sparky about the others. He can order those.”

Sparky’s schedule and the shiplap boards aligned on April 17. With assistant Dave waving, Sparky backed his truck and a trailer piled with lumber down our gravel driveway. The fellas stacked the boards under the old pine tree stand. They carried ladders, a work bench, and tools into the basement. Sparky projected the job would take about a week. Since our friends planned to arrive May 12, I would have plenty of time to clean up after the construction plus help Charlie decorate his new space.

The buzzing of saws, squealing of drills, and banging of hammers drifted up the spiral stairs.

Gilbert and Rills hid under the sofa. Ande monitored noises from the top of the stairs until brave enough to creep down. I followed to investigate.

Sparky reached above his head holding a 2 X 4 while Dave, balanced on a step stool, drilled a screw into the board.

“Looking good guys.”

“I’m glad you’re here, Miss Janet.” Sparky unfurled the tape measure. It crinkled from the floor to the 2 X 4 he’d held. “The pipes are low. The ceiling has to be seven feet. Is that a problem?” 

Archway from Bedroom to Bathroom

That’s Sparky. Checking with me for every change. There would be many. One of the first involved lights.

“We didn’t talk about lighting.” Sparky glanced at the cross beams. “I need to know for wiring. Canned lights would go in the ceiling.”

I mentioned that to Spence later.

“No! I hate canned lights.” His lips pouted as if he bit into a forkful of mashed ladybugs. “Get a ceiling fixture.”

But ceiling fixtures would hang down. I asked Charlie.

“I don’t care.”

On Spence’s next trip to Meadville, I hitched a ride and questioned a Home Depot salesman about canned lights.

He cocked his head. “I don't sell many of those. They're old fashioned.” He showed me canned lights and a new LED recessed light which lasts sixteen years and is easy to replace. “It’s my best seller.” 

He sold me.

A bigger issue popped up at the end of the second week. “Miss Janet,” Sparky called.

“I’m coming.” I dried dishwater-wet hands and headed downstairs.

Looking sheepish, Sparky said, “We’ve got a problem. I didn’t realize there’s no drain here.” He pointed where I’d asked him to install the utility sink.

“The Mennonite builder placed the extra drain between the toilet and bathroom sink.” I wondered if that doomed the extra sink.

 He motioned with his hand to show laying the pipe across the floor. “I can dig up the cement and—”

“Great! Add it to the bill.”

Wednesday morning, May 3—the one week projection proved too ambitious—Sparky toted a jack hammer into the basement. RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT.

Bewildered, Gilbert sat motionless except for twitching ears. Ande hid. Rills paced, sniffed the air, then curved his tail around his body and front paws. Scent of cement floated upstairs.

Sparky continued hammering. Dave’s saw buzzed for an hour until the men left to return the rented jack hammer.

The cats napped.

The following Monday, Dave called upstairs. “You’ve got to see this. You aren’t going to believe it.”

Three paw prints marred the hardened cement over the utility sink plumbing. I wondered if a cat got an upset stomach licking cement off his paws.

Bathroom - All Pipes Covered

And always, always, always, Sparky considered the comfort of homeowners. Shortly after he and Dave arrived one morning, Spence jumped up from the kitchen table. “I’ve got a ZOOM call in two minutes! I’ll take it in Charlie's room.”

Deciding to write a birthday letter, I fetched paper in the bedroom and found Spence at the desk. “Sorry. I’ll only be a minute.”

“I don’t have a minute!” He picked up his computer and marched to the porch.

Feeling guilty, I wrote at the kitchen table and heard, “Miss Janet,” floating up from the basement. I investigated.

“It sounds like Spence has an important phone call. There’s a lot of people from Notre Dame. I don’t want to bother him. We’ve got a lot of sawing to do. Would it be okay if we moved the saw inside? Will it disturb you?”

“Good idea. I’ll be fine.”

The kitchen table vibrated under my hands while I wrote.

A half hour later, Spence must have gotten chilled sitting outside in the drizzly, low forty degree weather without a jacket. He moved inside to the kitchen table which I’d vacated for other chores.

I tiptoed to the basement. “Spence is back. Could you move the saw outside?”

Sparky winked. “Okay, kiddo.” He and Dave hefted the saw table and walked it out the door.

Though pleased with all the extra effort Sparky put into our project, on one of my daily check-ins I asked him, “Isn’t your next customer getting anxious?”

Dave answered before Sparky. “Yeah. She’s calling every day.”

Sparky laughed. “I’m getting older. I can’t do eight to ten hour days any more.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I can only handle twenty-five percent of the bids I get. I take the customers I worked for previously.”

“We appreciate you.”

“I appreciate you too.” He guffawed. “You keep me fed.”

And at the end of each day if I hadn’t already appeared to check on their progress, Sparky would call “Miss Janet,” show me what they'd finished, and explain what they would work on next.

The fellas became more than handymen. I learned about Sparky’s dad Pops, who watches TV in the morning while Sparky gets ready for work, and who will get his bathroom remodeled with shiplap boards too. I learned about Dave living in an old farmhouse yet feeling like living in a fish bowl because his horses, goats, and chickens come up to the picture window wanting to be fed.

Tuesday, May 9, Sparky said, we’re done, Miss Janet. It’s been a pleasure working for you.” He reached out his hand then, changing his mind, pulled me in for a hug.

“You’ve become part of the family.” I stuffed my hands in my jeans pocket and surveyed the hemlock suite the fellas had constructed for Charlie. “I appreciate you taking the time to make everything right.”

“I wanted you to like it.”

“I do. It looks great.”

Hearing the truck pull out of the gravel driveway one last time felt bittersweet. I miss chatting with the fellas. But Charlie and I needed three days to make the transition to his basement suite. This past weekend he slept on his new floor mattress behind a navy blue sheet for privacy. A room divider, rug, and other furnishings will come in time. He has his own space and may join us old folks whenever he wishes.

The best part of the project was building connections with the men—from Charlie and Spence to Dave and Sparky, especially Sparky. Halfway through the project, Spence told me, “You and Sparky have a special relationship.”

Maybe. I imagine I’m not the only owner that has a special relationship with Sparky. Building working relationships is what he does best.

 

Hemlock Pentagon-Shaped Bedroom