The manana movement begins. The mason arrives manana, on the 11:00 boat, he says. The forms are constructed. The ground is staked and the foundation laid out. The backhoe digs in. The buildings official measures. The cement truck is convinced to mix it up. Manana, baby.
Meanwhile, I dispose of the rest of the poison ivy roots and order materials. Sweettalk the lumber yard reps and the heavy equipment operators.
Then next week the boss from Santa Fe, the carpenter from New Orleans. Manana and manana. A whole house of cards built on an actual manana: Manana. Really.
fair warning: on block island or manhattan or in missouri, we can be a little salty
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"To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death."
Seemed apt. Watch out for dust.
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