The four of us stood in front of the space under the...

The four of us stood in front of the space under the windows
where the kitchen sink would live, M. and me and the couple we’re working for.
A decision had to be made: dishwasher to the right or left of the sink. A
simple choice, one of hundreds that take place in these sorts of renovations.
The couple pro’d and conned each side; the preferences of the primary dish-doer
had greater weight. On the right, it was decided. And so it was. M. and I
installed the cabs, slid the appliance into its slot, pulled open the door, and
looked at each other in silence. “No,” I said, trying to rejigger reality so
that what was happening wouldn’t happen. M. lay down on the floor. The handle of
the oven stuck out enough that it did not allow the door to the dishwasher door
to open all the way. “No,” I said again. M. continued to lie on the floor, her
hands over her eyes. This was a problem.

And there are always solutions. Some of which would’ve
involved dismantling several hours of work. We consulted with the owners, who
pro’d and conned their options again and decided to put the dishwasher on the
diagonal. Not ideal, not easy, but a solution. And it’s a funny thing being witness
to these domestic moments, these minor crises. A doctor opens up a patient and
a measuring error can mean a person might lose use of their legs. Here, the
stakes are lower, but we do what we can to manufacture meaning in the moments
anyway, the small dramas of space and how it’s filled. If you do dishes
everyday, load and unload, these decisions impact the way your life unfolds in
small but significant ways. Underestimate at your peril. Outside, we set up a
tent to cut the wind which blew in the single digits earlier in the week, a
little outdoor workshop pavilion. It felt festive, a tiny circus, a celebration,
a wedding, sawdust and cold planks of poplar instead of gowns and vows and
champagne.