Michaell,

I thought this was the best thing I'd read in a long time.  I gave it to my son
to read.  And I think I'll read the early paragraphs to Sparky and Alley tonight
as a bed time story.

(I don't really read bedtime stories to the dogs...but at least they look like
they are paying attention.)

-jc

[log in to unmask] wrote:

> The following is a transcript from my restoration journal:it was written
> before I returned home from a job we were doing on the Nebaska State Capital.
> It  was written for pin heads and first publiched here ...
> It  is now being published in A PT  so Iwanted to share it once more before
> it retires...
> I hope you enjoy it;... if not..delete my friend delete. ...best way to enjoy
> is to download and  print  to read before bed or some other travel time ...
> Best Michaell
>
> Homecoming is always an emotional time;so I'm looking forward to it. I've
> been gone since August; on a cross country oddessy that's landed me on a
> swing stage 300 ft up on Goodhue's and Hartley Burr Alexanders archival
> masterpiece the Nebraska State Capital.
>  Today is my last day on the job site for ten days; like a good Southern boy
> I expect to hunt and fish for most of my time off ; or meybe just relax and
> loaf in the warm fall weather.
> My wife tells me she has all the doors of the house are open; enjoying the
> cool autumn air as it passes freely through our creole cottage. To keep warm
> she keeps a small wood fire going in the hearth and she and the baby sleeps
> with only a comforter as the nightime lows warrant nothing more than one
> blanket.
> She tells me the dogs; Thelma and Louise;know Im coming home as they are
> sleeping under the full moon ,way up along the dirt road to the cotton patch;
> keeping one eye open for me and one eye open for foraging deer and rabbit. .
> Now if you have never seen cottonfields in moonlight it is truly a wonderland
> of shimmering  downy clouds inviting you to walk across them ; they can
> mesmerize the imagination as if in dream and transform the soul in
> tranquility.
>  That's of course untill Thelma or Louise spot a cane rabbit; then all hell
> breaks loose; and solitude gives way to the chase.and the all mayhem that
> follows....but Im not home yet .First I need to get by this day.
>
> We rhendevous at the work shanty for coffee just before sunrise. The shanty
> exterior is windblown; yet  inside is  tidy with 2x4 furniture lit by  a
> couple of coleman lanterns. Rigging and tools decorate the walls; as does the
> usual tell all  tool calender  in  wet swimsuit.
> The  mornings coffee steams from large pot on the army surplus gas field
> ring.The men bleary eyed and taciturn assemble their rigging gear while
> balancing their coffee  in paper cups  muttering about the evenings foibles
> while  heading out the door  to the personel hoist  dressed in climbing gear .
>  Its cold out; the temps are hovering around 33deg;.... up top with the wind
> chill?  ;no telling
>
> .The scaffold is unusual; as all the corners of the historic tower are fixed
> pipe ; allowing the middle access only by swing stage.
> For the corners;( there are four bays to every corner) the masons have a
> choice of steel decking for the heavy stone replacement,
>  or using  motorized baskets for Gommage dry system for stone cleaning.
>
> I like the integrety of this scaffold as it reduces weight; and provides
> greater mobility to the trades.. This scaffolding  system was chosen this way
> as the standing seam roof below cannot tolerate large amounts of weight. Its
> also  good for the men as we can easily complete drops; without moving heavy
> decking; Lightweight and simple.
>
> .We still share the base bridge with the scaffolding crew;  and all Irish mix
> of Donnegal and Ulster men out of Chicago.  They are behind in their schedule
> in completing the West and North elevations;  and have been pulling 10-12
> hour days just to stay ahead of us.
>  We often ride the personnel hoist with them. Great big ruddy lads with red
> hair and freckles;and not immune to taking an "Irish" lunch now and then
> They love to give my french roughnecks "the blarney"; who take this  kind of
> kidding in stride while bidding their time well  in the skulldugery of  a
> "french" payback....
>
> There is an ancient affinity between these nationalities ;... I can't quite
> place it ;  but it's there;
>     like two incongruous mongrels who sidle up to one another unexpectantly
> in an prize fight
>  ;... my guess is its their disdain for the English... and their common
> affinity they have for one another  as ruffians and  sea dogs.
>  Now if all this wasn't enough on this job;  throw in a dozen smart ass,
> second generation, ham fisted,  Norse stone masons out of Michigan, and
> Illinois.
> These blue eyed blond devils sport cold weather leather faces;    fierce
> Nordic Viking beards; and noses that could double for new potatoes that had
> been left in the freezer.
>  To make matters worse they communicate in a strange dialect starting each
> sentence with the F" word; corrupting my French crew; (as if that were
> possible);  and giving them bad speech habits;..
> There is one female; a blond who wears her hair in long Norwegian plait down
> the back of her insulated overalls; she is a mud man (person)  to one of the
> union setters; and tells her own bawdy jokes; laughing hoarsely while always
> tugging on a Viceroy.
>  She uses a pre-mixed 1-1-6 lime mix; fashions her own pointing trowels; and
> tells all my guys where the best strip clubs are;
> I have never seen her eyes as she is always in dark glasses.She is quick with
> a smile; and a knife; so Im told; if you rub her the wrong way..
>
> Now, dress the whole lot of these pirates  up in arctic carhart suits and put
> on them  the wrap around viper sunglasses;
> Then harness everyone in" step in" safety straps; make them crotch tight;
> with  climbers D rings on the back; ..( in case you have to hang around.)
>
> Then in the pre dawn gloom ride the coffee/ tobacco stench of a  personnel
> hoist; with the feeble blinking light bulb; up to the  bridge base  of the
> upper  dome of the limestone rock face of the Capital.
> The hoist rumbles along and lurches in jerks like a freight train for this
> ride
> Some of the men are munching on rock hard dunking donuts; you know the kind
> that  granulates on impact with your upper molars;... forming a smooth
> paste.... with aggregate.
> This by the way , is an old masons secret for pointing mortar,  but  don't
> try it at home...
>  Rumble , rumble  ; nobody is singing Kumbayah at this hour.Our brains are
> comatose with lack of sleep and missing the warmth of ones bed.The air is
> acrid with cigarette smoke; and blank stares.
> Inevitabley someone passes wind in the hoist; with the guilty party usually
> being the most complaintive. Like overipe fruit; the ride becomes torturous
> to the point of tears.Such behavior can start the day poorly and should be
> discouraged.
>
> The hoist reaches the upper base of the dome; and we spill into the now
> welcoming cold air like a firefighters gasping for air..
> With a clear head and a steady breeze we stand at the base of the outer walls
> of the  Dome of Remembrance . It is here where the sun's first rays
> penetrates Goodhues holy of holy's ;
>  a 60 foot dome of gilded Gaustavino tile in plains mosaic; that encloses a
> black and gold marble mausoleum like interior dedicated to the fallen dead of
> the first war.    (later rededicated to all wars)
> It is here; in the interior; visitors stand in awe surrounded by historic
> murals of men and woman active in uniform. The sun perculates the upper walls
>  through long narow transoms of occluded glass set back in the stone.;  thus
> traveling down the wall embolding the black and gold marble .
> The floor is an inlay of VT. Green and Minn. Rose in eight sided pattern.
> ..Visitors find the experience ;meditative and respectful; and are mindfull
> that the citizens; in stewardship of  State government of Nebraska; could
> create such majesty to honor their sons and daughters with fitting tribute
> and place.
>
> .
> Outside is a different story; the wind is a constant 20 plus mph. The
> landscape is bleak in a hoarfrost of endless cornfields and silos awaiting
> the first rays of the suns blazing arc to break the monotony of  the nights
> nocturnal  icy grip.
> Compressors and generators sputter then  struggle to start;; the men once
> assembled up top , finish their cigarettes and drain their paper coffee cups;
> and suddenly like Tibetan Shepra's's turn instinctively to witness the  break
> of the golden orb of the sun poke  the horizon then  illuminate in a ball of
> fire the Great plains in a magical  display of  pinks and golds.
> Facing the sun our breath is  captured in frozen whiteness ;and smiles for
> its return.
> The stone behind us is bathed in brillant rays of dawn sunlight ignighting
> the monocrome gilded tile of the dome in a glow of resonance visable for
> miles around
> ..Like some reverent assembly of Soloman's sons we silently aknowledge the
> passing of the old and the birth of the new; jogging an ancient memory of
> time ,light,and building stone in the dawn of new day.     Our radios then
> crackle to life; and we go to work ....Best Michael
> .all rts MDD 1999
>
> --
> To terminate puerile preservation prattling among pals and the
> uncoffee-ed, or to change your settings, go to:
> <http://maelstrom.stjohns.edu/archives/bullamanka-pinheads.html>