A banging hammer, the high-pitched whine of a saw… the sounds of voices outside the window elbow me to surface from sleep.
I peep at the clock. 6:45 AM
I try to shut out the noises of someone else’s day beginning and roll onto my stomach, burrowing my head under the pillows. I momentarily slip back into stillness and search for the fragments of the dream I was in. I wasn’t finished with it. But the remaining slivers of that dream dissolve abruptly until there is nothing left for me to remember.
Wheels of a truck crunch over the packed snow and ice and come to a halt in the driveway. The door opens and slams shut. A fleeting bit of quiet…then an engine starts…the excavator’s grumble of diesel, ornery in the bone chilling cold. The staccato beat of its jackhammer stabs at me.
My husband, cradled in our nest of feather duvets, hears nothing. He is deaf in one ear and has turned that to his advantage.
I surrender. OK…You win…. I am awake. I am getting up.
I swing my feet over the edge of the bed. The floor is icy cold. I look for my cashmere cardigan to throw on over my underwear but I can’t find it.
The phone rings. I bolt across the room to grab it before it wakes up Will…
Outside my window is the excavator.
I mean…. right outside.
As I start to speak into the phone.. I realize I am so close that I lock eyes with the operator and we greet each other with a good morning nod. I try in vain to hop out of his line of vision; hopeful he can’t see too far in the cottage. After all, the visual of a scantily clad 60 something might impact his operating skills.
And so begins another day, living on the construction site.