I am blessed to be surrounded by so many people who care about me. I cannot begin to tell you how grateful I am. But they are also full of advice. Lewis Bundock, the half of my contractor team that I usually deal with, declares that we are redoing the bathroom by committee, and it’s probably true. Everyone has a suggestion, even a criticism. Tonight the bathroom is essentially done, except for the glass around the shower and the glass for the long vanity mirror and the one in the original medicine chest—both of which will be beveled, now that beveled glass is cheaper to reproduce. Meantime I can begin to move things back into my bathroom, which will be a great joy—and I can use the commode instead of wending my way through the whole house at three in the morning.
But tonight, some members of the unofficial committee were critical—of the work and of me. (I hasten to add that Jordan was not here.) The paint on the drawer fronts needs another coat, and the patch spots need more covering. My response is that if it passes Lewis’ inspection, which it did, it’s good enough for me. No, they responded, he’s the contractor—you’re the customer. So I went in and looked again—wood grain shows a bit in the drawers, but they are new wood. I found on little blurp on the molding around the medicine cabinet, but it doesn’t bother me at all. I guess the criticism bothers me more. Lewis and his brother, Jim, have taken extraordinary care of me and my house for about twenty-two years, and I’m not going to get critical now. Most people think they do outstanding work—even the city inspector told me that. And I remember a detail-oriented friend from out of town looking at a new wood floor they’d supervised and saying, “Now that’s quality work.”
I find the same thing with my bum hip and leg—most people have a suggestion, another cure, something I should be doing and am not. I figure once I put myself in the hands of a physician, I should trust him or her (in this case, both). Not blindly. I realize that we must each be our own health advocate these days, and I try to ask intelligent questions rather than blindly accepting a doctor’s advice. But once I’m convinced that a therapy is right for me, I don’t want a chorus of other ideas.
I think what I’m saying is that I’m a reasonably intelligent person, and I can chart my own course through life. I am so grateful to have so many around me who love and care for me, but I want a little room to lead my life as I see fit. I’ve muddled through for a lot of years—I’ll probably make it a few more.
And know, dear committee members, that I love each and every one of you.