Perfectly not perfect

My brother stopped by for a visit this afternoon. He had not been down to the project since August of last year when he helped with some demolition. We laughed over the poor choice to chuck broken bricks and other 'clean fill' into the cellar opening; I spent the better part of a week clearing out that same cellar space a few months later lifting cinder blocks and bricks up and out from 7 feet down. Needless to say, the structure is now in a completely different state of being.

We chatted some about this and that and as we meandered through thoughts, we began a discussion about a list of things we both want to do before we die. I told him the likelihood that Natalie Portman will take a ride on his motorcycle is slim to none. He was bummed.

I also told him one of my dreams is to build a house. I am now in the middle of that effort but as I talked to Lance about this, I wasn't sure I am going to be awed by the project. Not for lack of effort by any means but rather because I tend to chip away at the greatness of what I do by reviewing all those things that could have gone better: Oh the poor choices of a couple subcontractors!, backing over the edge of a newly poured concrete slab while carrying a ton of bricks, ordering an iron beam 6" too short.

I have overcome the contractor issues, repoured the slab corner, and created a very cool shoe/sweater nook in the Master walk-in closet but...but. So, will these deviations from plan, deviations from perfect not allow me to revel in the glory of what in all respects is a great achievement?

Time will help smooth over the rough edges I think. I will remember the early morning coffee and laughs with new friends at the Soulard Coffee Garden and forget the hour I spent building an exterior window entablature perfectly 4" too short. I will remember the warm feeling through the cup I peed into and forget the toenail I lost kicking an errant 2x10. And I will remember greeting many Dog Park members and their friendly encouragement and forget the piles of poo that had me leaping over the easement.

Now, if only I could remember where I put the keys to the back door...arg.