DIM: Do It Myself

 Canal Spring crushSometimes I joke that around here, when I say we're gonna DIY something, I really mean we're gonna DIH it -- that is, natch, Do It Himself, tapping the insane talents of my handy mate.  I know our digs wouldn't be anywhere near as awesome as they are were it not for the aforementioned insane talents of my sweetheart, so very handy with tools, so ready to work, so creative.  When The Kid was little, he once said, mumbling past his pacifier,  

Dad, you're the bestest maker.

Word.

So anyway, for me, what happens is that I defer or I make a list or I point, and bam, like magic, magic happens -- bam, there's a new garden box; zap, re-routed irrigation system; fuck yeah, Sky Chairs hung up for our evening swing.  

That's a super-sweet deal that nobody could complain about.

But sometimes, I wonder, do I have it in me to get shit done on my own?

And that's probs why I derive a singular pleasure (hah) from doing alone what we generally do as a couple, taking things in hand, getting shit done on my own.

Case in point: two weeks ago my first solo inspection of our two home hives.  We've been tending bees for four years now, and this was the FIRST time that I suited up, smoked the bitches, and got in there on my own.  We've developed a good rhythm between the two of us most times when checking the hives -- Joe handling the heavy lifting, especially now, pulling the first frame, then the two of us stationed on opposite sides of the hive, pulling frames simultaneously working our way toward the center of the box, announcing our findings to each other, "I got eggs over here," "Perfect brood pattern," or "Hot damn, check out all this capped honey."  The work goes quickly and it's good to have someone to bounce observations off of, talk to, while working the bees.  

Still, I had that question: am I leaning, am I crutching, can I do it myself?

Done.

Necessarily it was a superficial check, since I was still under doctor mandate not to lift anything, but still got into the honey supers, pulled frames, checked on progress, peered down into the brood chamber, looking for crazy comb, noting numbers of bees, storage pattern.  It was super-fun and satisfying, to stay inside the buzz of my own mind, periodically cooing something to the bees, baby-talking even them, moving slowly, enjoying the chance to be with them just on my own.

It's silly that I defer when doing things with my super-handy mate, but sometimes it's tempting, you know, when you see the ferocity with which he attacks a task, to think, well, fuck it, he's got it, I could just swing in the hammock right about now and watch.  The thing is, he wouldn't even mind.  But I have this need to do things myself, to be able to know, inside, that I'm not just Vanna in a veil, you know.

Done.

Yesterday, I crushed our latest harvest on my own, while Handy Hubs was in the house making manicotti for dinner, both of us in separate spaces sweating our asses off, questioning our sanity to be cooking and baking (him), working in the uninsulated garage-turned-honey-house (me), on such a hot day.  But I was so pleased to be at it, with my tools set up, cutting, scraping, pushing 14 frames of capped honey into the bucket, feeling the crush of the wax between my fingers, honey up to my elbows, sticky, sweating.  And grinning. So happy.

There's so much pleasure for me in knowing I can do something.  That I can do it on my own.  That it's not always Do It Himself around here -- which is amazing, not complaining -- but also, many times, Do It Myself. 

A bucket full of honey is on its way right now, dripping through its sieve, jars from my own handy Pops in the dishwasher, getting ready to receive the bounty of this latest spring harvest.  And I'm already reveling in its sweetness, and not just thanks to the bits of beeswax I'm still finding in my hair.  It's the knowing that I did it, that I can do it, on my own, working hard and learning all the time, feeling my own mastery of this glorious task.

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