Shovels & Rakes & Implements of Destruction

The roots of the massive pine tree outside the kitchen window are over a hundred years old, strong as well laid cement and snarled together in an impenetrable maze under the house. They present a formidable challenge to the engineers assigned to leveling the house's foundation as they are mostly inaccessible and well protected. They have had their own way since birth, securely out of sight, twisting, spreading, and reinforcing themselves for over a century, surviving by following their nature. They are a metaphor for the inevitable.

The lead contractor paces the kitchen, frowning. He doesn't like admitting that no one can say for sure how the leveling process will go, so he prepares me for the worst, the cabinets may be jolted from their moorings, the tile countertops may be undone, the window could resettle, the backsplash might jump off like popcorn. An entire wall section might have to be replaced or rebuilt and he suggests I begin looking at new cabinetry and paint samples. The night before, I painstakingly remove all the glassware and other breakables until the shelves are bare and the counters empty. I almost like the resulting look - minimalistic and free of clutter, exactly the way I would have my life if it were possible.

The crew arrives at precisely 7am the next morning, hard hatted, determined and fully equipped to do battle. They form a bucket brigade that extends from under the house to the kitchen to insure quick communication and begin unloading all manner of impressive mechanical devices. The dogs commence a fierce protest at this invasion of men and machines and the cats, safely locked up in the far side of the house, scatter for shelter at the commotion and noise. At the sight of one worker producing an evil looking jackhammer, an absurd lyric from Arlo Guthrie's "Alice's Restaurant" makes its way into my mind, shovels and rakes and implements of destruction, and I flee for work. The worker with the jackhammer gives me a cheerful wave and a thumbs up.

The morning passes without incident although every unfrayed nerve I have left is poised and ready for the bad news telephone call that never comes. At noon, I return home to find the house intact and not a single sign of anything different until I open the back door and rather than shuffle slowly over the low carpet, it swings freely. I look around and see that the cabinets are more in alignment, the drawers surprisingly evened out. The leveling has been accomplished without disaster, a slap in the face to the old pine tree and its ancient, gnarled root system. Man and machine have beaten nature at her own game and while its only a temporary victory - the tree still lives and will continue to grow and reassert itself, fighting for its life and one day regaining the upper hand - but for now it's defeated and quiet. It waits.

The whole process reminds me that anticipation and dread rarely live up to their potential, that we spend too much time accommodating them. Save your worry for the things that really matter and tomorrow will take care of itself.