Bitters

In sailing, or any offshore venture, there is a lot of work with rope, twine, chain, and cable.  When using a rope there are always two ends.  One end is called the “working end.”  This term describes the end of the rope which has a loop on it or is tied to an important piece of equipment.  The other end, the end that is free and loose and frayed is called the “bitter end.”  My crew is working this week on the bitter ends of their work.  Another term for this kind of work is called a punch list.  We spent the day punching things on the list.

There will be a one-meter wide footpath behind the church which also leads to the sidewalk to the gabina.  This path is now ready to be paved.  There were a lot of bitter pieces to do around the building in preparation for the pending concrete pour.  Hollows were filled, humps taken down, rough places made plain.  Anyone who has done this kind of work knows why it is called “grunt work.”  Mostly the greatest amount of enthusiasm the worker can muster between tasks is a low guttural acknowledgement that they heard the superintendent say something.  These noises must come from the throat somehow.

I gave my share of grunts when Fisnik the engineer came by.  Over the past four plus months he and I have gone from a stance of tolerance for each other to a genuine respect and fondness for the other.  Dogs need time to sniff and snap and growl before they become a pack.  By the end of tomorrow we should be ready to pour, or at least ready to turn the site over to a skilled concrete crew.  I am eager to see what our work looks like covered up.

After work Sajmir invited me to his house for a special meal.  I agreed to go under terms that I not be there too long, that the visit be a brief one.  I must have lost my wits, forgetting that visiting someone’s home in Albania is like going to your grandmother’s house.  There are no quick visits to your grandmother’s house.  Sajmir’s wife Zamira fixed us a 5kg fish he had caught recently.  Some combinations of factors lend themselves to a more enjoyable dining experience.  I can’t imagine any fillet tasting finer.  Nor can I imagine feeling more honored to be the guest in someone’s home.  Four hours had passed before I realized that it was nearly too late to get a bus back to Tirana.  Sajmir shared some very touching words with me.  It is difficult to know how to respond to so much love poured out.

When words fail, silence serves.