Under the restrictive pall of Covid – 19, there is the almost universal sense that time itself has become an amorphous, unrecognizable entity. Obviously, without humankind to label, differentiate and characterize time (minutes, days, weeks, Mondays, Fridays, September, good times, bad times, etc.), time would always have remained so – but for the cycles of the seasons, moon, and so on.

Our knack for assigning value judgments to time results mostly from how we have chosen to spend it. For example, in most countries there exists a workweek, typically Mon. – Fri.. Depending upon how people regard work (think drudgery, repetition, obligation as many people do), some days become better than others. Even songs have been written about them. “I don’t like Mondays”, “Tuesday Afternoon”, Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting” and so on, are illustrative of our fondness for or, even, expectations of certain days. Friday, nearly everyone’s favorite, was even honored by what once was the largest restaurant chain in America, TGIFs.

It is no surprise, then, that absent the markers that used to define time, everyone feels disoriented and adrift. Without work, every day feels numbingly similar without much emotional attachment. It’s as if our water supply has been spiked with Prozac. Everything is just OK. Where are the joys and the lows?

But it not just work that is missing. All the things that used to make weekends especially fun are gone. Sports, Friday Happy Hours with friends, weddings on Saturday, sleepy Sundays watching golf (replays don’t really count), Saturday “Honey do” lists (now, every day gets that. Yeesh), even church – all gone. Weekends feel empty.

I used to have a fairly typical relationship with the days of the week and my feelings for them rested upon how many days were left in the workweek and how much I could drink. Sad, but true. Sundays, usually hungover and filled with dread. Mondays and Tuesdays, dry and a bit “white knuckled”. Wednesday, a clearing head and glimmers of fun ahead. Thursday, the drinkers crow-hop. Friday, it was on and so on.

Now that I am sober the vast majority of the time and a weekend chef, the equation has flipped. I love Sundays and Mondays and, because I actually like cooking for pay, everyday is good. Booze has ceased to exert a gravitation pull drawing my attention to the weekend.

So, back on subject, with Sparta now filling the bulk of my daylight hours, my time has been reduced to increments defined by Amazon deliveries (today my bed in a box arrives), tasks thus associated (today I install under bed drawers with slider mechanisms that arrived yesterday and tomorrow I unleash said bed, giving it the requisite 72 hours to assume its intended mass) and new Amazon orders (on Thursday I order the portable washing machine. Yes, this is all on my iPhone scheduler).

I guess I’m really lucky to have such an engrossing hobby.

*This was one of many classic films made mid-century about alcoholism. Ray Milland won Best Actor for a timeless, spot on performance. Some things never change. Man’s relationship to booze is one of them.

Here’s a collection of little tasks I’ve been distracting myself with of late.

I have several old and original light fixtures left to be dealt with. There are a couple of ceiling spots wired for their use.

Finding the right putty to cover my sloppy workmanship is a problem. No OTC products seem to match. I have concluded the only solution is to blend one myself.

I included the above picture to illustrate the burnt orange and green theme that I have asked my daughter, Leslie, to incorporate into a custom, butcher-block dining table she is making for me. But as you look at this photo, something else is revealed. No, your eyes are not deceiving you. Almost nothing squares in the above photo. Hmmm. Perhaps the result of building on three different locations over the past three years, each with a different grade (nothing has been perfectly level). Or perhaps it is just a consequence of amatuer carpentry. Whatever, this place is definitely unique.

As I have said before, one great benefit of trailer restoration is learning by necessity- through trial and error, owner’s manuals or, mostly, the Internet. From the banal to the arcane and everything in between, I have become conversant with the best composting medium for poop, Pex plumbing and the intracacies of electricity/wiring. Sometimes I get in over my head but it’s kept my brain active when it otherwise may have atrophied – particularly during these covid – 19, sensory-deprived times. Let me demonstrate through pictures what my grey matter has been up to lately:

The 12v fans pictured above are designed to affix to car radiators to supplement cooling in especially hot conditions. Who knew? After a lot of research, I picked these up to move air in and out of Sparta on the ceiling and behind the stove. Many tiny-housers use large computer fans (also 12v), but I chose these for their superior capacity (CFM) and ruggedness. They will be a bit noisier, however.

Meanwhile, I came up with a solution to the rounded floor trim for the observation lounge. It’s not pretty but what the hell. It will be behind the couch.

To further the excitement, look what arrived yesterday:

Stay tuned. I may be in for a shock. Help, Mr. Wizard!

This morning I got up at my usual hour, 6:00 am, and as I brewed my morning joe had a terribly unoriginal thought about Groundhog Day. Who hasn’t by now likened their Covid – 19 experience to this classic film, where the protagonist is hopelessly stuck in a time loop perpetuated, it seems, by his cynicism, contempt and borderline misanthropy. As the days of sheltering in place roll by with little to distinguish one from the next, it wears on our collective psyche. Hopefully, we will not resort to suicide attempts as Bill Murray’s Phil did repeatedly as his futile means of escape. The movie’s salvation and the thing that made it bearable to watch was its comedic tone. What could have been a bleak, Dante’s limbo experience was redeemed by its humor. And Bill Murray’s character was ultimately saved by love. Love and laughs – two nice antidotes to our times.

My siblings and I share a message board where we exchange our thoughts, grandkid pics and, mostly, humor – some of which have been Coronovirus song parodies. Standing in front of Mr. Coffee this morning (talk about a captive audience), I attempted a variation of the Sonny and Cher theme song from Groundhog Day. I got as far as the refrain but stopped because “I got flu, babe” just wasn’t cutting it. I decided to stick to my day job, put song-writing aside and throw myself back into Sparta where my creativity could be put to better use.

Today, I wire the potty vent.

While awaiting delivery of my kitchen range, a/c and other large items, I am taking care of little things…truly puttering. This stuff is fun and mostly consists of using available resources like leftover trim pieces, tons of screws (both brass and steel) and sheets of finished birch ply.

In the last week I have:

• built shelves for my pantry closet
• layed cork flooring in closets
• reassembled bed frame
• switched sliding closet doors for better mirror location
• finished 1 x 2″ birch trim around floor perimeter
• finished trim on fireplace cupboard
• Installed threshold on open closet where washing machine will go
• peeled plastic coating off kitchen counter to reveal its beauty

Not much to add here other than photos.

That’s all, folks.

Sometimes my expenditures on Sparta lack consistency or even common sense. For example, I will spend a boat-load on flooring, a largley ornamental component. And then, I will cut corners by scrimping on the electrical system, inarguably the most important and, potentially, dangerous element aboard my dwelling. To wit, as an interim solution to my need for 120v and 12v power, I chose a $23 Chinese converter – thinking that would suffice until my big solar project down the road. I bought a big, beefy 10 gauge extension cord to deliver the 120v shore power to Sparta. Ok, that seemed sensible.

But then, I linked that cord to this little converter I found on Amazon. It arrived without one bit of information – no owner’s manual, no schematics…nothing.

The little guy pictured above was designed to reduce 120v shore power to 12v low-voltage juice to supply all my lighting, water pump, etc..

From this converter it was a seemingly simple matter of connecting it and all 5, 12v circuits through another inexpensive component – the fuse block.

In fairness, these components may have been fine, but for the fact that I connected them with flimsy 20 gauge wire. Once linked, I turned on the power and the lights went on for a moment and then “pop”, a fuse or two blew. I smelled that sickening, acrid odor of burned insulation. Looking at the fuse block I saw that the + wire affixed to the approprite terminal had burned up and that the terminal itself had melted. See above.

OK, so the fuses worked as intended and no real harm was done but my choice of wire thickness clearly defied Ohm’s law. I had stepped down too abrupty to a wire unsuited to the task and I had misjudged the power of 12 volts.

The lesson here was that I am really not that smart when it comes to electricity and perhaps I was out of my depth when I tried to improvise an electical converter/fuse block solution.

I decided to scrap the two little components and just buy an RV power converter fully integrated with a distribution panel, appropriate wiring and a battery charging capability to prepare me for future PG&E hiccups. I ordered a Progressive Dynamics product for almost $300 and when it arrives next week, I’ll tell you more about it.

As a nice counterpoint to my electrical mishaps, I managed to finish the trim on one side of the Observation Lounge yesterday.

So long.

Recovery from alcoholism, addiction or any other pathology where an underlying trait is acute selfishness requires one daily practice to be successful – gratitude. Over the past twenty years of back and forth sobriety, I’ve found I do best when I keep myself anchored in a place of thankfulness, eschewing self-pity, regret and resentments. Those inner demons, when allowed to run rampant, have proven the bane of my existence.

The great thing about gratitude is that our blessings are usually right under our noses, but often they sit in the back of the classroom while our less attractive impulses sit in the front row, waving their arms, clamoring for our attention. I have to resist the urge to call on them.

So how do I find calm amidst this Covid – 19 pandemic when the kids in the front row are shouting death, dread and governmental ineptitude? I try to find my blessings. Here are but a few:

• I have my health, as do my kids, siblings and loved ones.
• I have found myself in a position to be helpful to my neighbors, with the skills to do so.
• I have developed a greater appreciation for our Governor, who’s press conferences are well-informed, measured and thoughtful.
• I have the power to self-innoculate, if I just observe some simple guidelines which are not that onerous.
• I have a partner to keep me company.
• Spring flowers are blooming, announcing renewal.
• Mid-afternoon naps are less guilt-inducing, as are t.v., pulp fiction and food consumed on the couch.
• I can grow a mullet.
• I have tons of time to work on Sparta.

In that vein. The floors are finished, Hallelujah!

OK, perhaps I exaggerate.

Way back when (so long ago I don’t exactly remember) I picked up 3 funky light sconces at The Restore. For those unfamiliar, it is a reseller of salvaged building materials, fixtures, etc. run by Habitat for Humanity. When I first got Sparta I’d brouse through their inventory, trying to imaging possible uses for weird and random stuff. I have purchased several things:

• twenty pieces of tile for fireplace pedestal
• peg board for bathroom vanity doors
• light fixture for dining table
• aforementioned sconces
• and so on

Often, my purchase would sit for months awaiting a calling I had vaguely envisioned. Such was the case with these sconces.

Only after arriving at a decision on floor color did I choose a suitable hue for these.

This metallic brown (Rustoleum’s “Aged Rust”) ties in to my floor color and draws from the copper wall, sink, etc.

Did I mentioned that the flooring had arrived last Thursday? After a ten day trip, my much-anticipated cork flooring showed up – all 750 pounds of it. It occured to me that it will ultimately represent 10% of Sparta’s gross curb weight (if she ever reaches a curb). This cork flooring is distributed by Green Building Supply of Fairfield, Iowa. I chose it for it’s attractive pattern, comfortable walking surface and superior insulating/sound-proofing qualities (so as not to disturb the mice below). It is plank flooring and snaps together just like laminate which I’ve plenty of experience with. Although more expensive than I’d planned (about $2,200 delivered), GBS was great to deal with and the product is as advertised – high quality!

Speaking of floor, I have been at that for the past three days (challenged by the persistent light rain forcing me indoors to saw) and I am thus far pleased with the results.

And then I hit a brick wall when I noticed my uneven floor was making it impossible to have tight seams in one area in front of the kitchen counter. On Monday I returned to sand this area flush.

So it is now Tuesday morning and the weather does not call for rain. I will have to totally clear out the Observation Lounge and then it will be a straight shot to the far side with no weird cuts to slow me down.

By day’s end I should be done with the floor and maybe hang a sconce or two.

“Nominative determinism is the hypothesis that people tend to gravitate towards areas of work that fit their names. The term was first used in the magazine New Scientist in 1994, after the magazine’s humorous Feedback column noted several studies carried out by researchers with remarkably fitting surnames. These included a book on polar explorations by Daniel Snowman and an article on urology by researchers named Splatt and Weedon.” – from Wikipedia

Seriously, I didn’t make this up. I found it on Wiki today after I came across a news story about a distinguished fellow named “Dr. Larry Brilliant, an epidemiologist who is a veteran of the eradication of smallpox and is now the chairman of an organization called Ending Pandemics, warned that if Trump sends everyone back to work by Easter, “I think history would judge it an error of epic proportions.””

When I was a kid back in Fresno we used to laugh about this dentist by the name of Dr. Hammer, swearing we’d never go to him.

There’s a single word for this phenomenon, aptronym, and other examples have included:

• Thomas Crapper – manufacturuer of flush toilet
• Early Wynn – famous MLB pitcher who won twice on opening day
• Anthony Weiner – notorious, well, you know.
• Jules Angst – reputable psychiatrist who authored several books on anxiety
• Marina Stepanova – record-breaking hurdler
• Last names Blizzard, Freeze and Raines – meteorologists
• Larry Playfair – an NHL player noted for fighting
• Igor Judge – …..

OK, you get the idea. Clearly, I need to get out more.

“Concluding in 1982 after an 11 season run, “M*A*S*H” made television history when over 105 million viewers tuned in to watch the 2.5 hour final episode. This number put it at a comfortable first place for most watched episode ever, with second place going to “Cheers” at just 84.4 million. While there are more people with TVs now than ever, even “Game of Thrones” only hit 16.5 million viewers for their season 7 finale. The “M*A*S*H” finale was so widely watched that New York’s sewer system was flooded with over 6 million gallons of water due to people waiting to use the bathroom until the show concluded.” – from Trivia Genius

I came across the above factoid while combing through my emails this a.m.. It is noteworthy not for the primary subject – most everyone my age knows about the popularity of “M*A*S*H” – but for the simultaneous flush that occurred in NYC. If millions of people can be trained to pee at the same time, surely they can be persuaded to stay home during the Covid – 19 crisis. Perhaps Cuomo should demand the M*A*S*H* finale be broadcast 24/7 for the next month.

OK, you’ve noticed of late the frequency of my blog posts. Yes, I’m bored and sorry if I’m making my problem your problem. In truth, I do have a lot to say because I am getting so much done on Sparta. What, with no gym, no pool, no work, no travel, no library (I’m out of books!), etc., I simply have time to focus on the trailer. Plus, I have to finish prior to move-in and I have a month. Major tasks remaining:

• Lay floor (scheduled for this weekend).
• Order and install toilet. (money’s tight, no work. Sorry, Cristina. Camo potty for awhile).
• Order and install oven. (same issue. Toaster oven and butane burner for now).
• Install remainder of lighting. Already bought.
• Complete minor wiring jobs.
• Install 12v vent fans (arriving in April).
• Install floor trim around perimeter. (After flooring of course).
• Run propane line from trailer tongue.
• Cut stove pipe passage through roof. (no rush ’till Fall).
• Raise Sparta on blocks.

I am sure other tasks will arise. If you are still reading, thanks. If you are in California, “If it’s yellow, let it mellow”. We still have a drought.