Best Laid Plans

     It was the revered Scottish Poet Robert Burns who said, “The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang aft agley.” In simple English he meant that the best laid plans of mice and men don’t always go the way we want them to.

     He was right, you know. My husband’s dream is to build a log home. I’m not sure where his vision got its start, maybe one morning pouring Log Cabin brand syrup on his pancakes as a boy. I do know this: since marrying me, that city boy became a man that drove a pick-up truck. Add to that, more than ten years ago, he purchased a .30-06 (pronounced "thirty-ought-six") rifle and brings home the venison every other autumn. I’d like to think I rubbed off on him. Although I was born in Detroit, I spent a lot of time on Gramma’s farm growing up, and then later had a huge vegetable garden, horses, rabbits, ducks and chickens. Maybe our dream has intertwined like the roots of a willow and an oak. We might grow in different ways, but we are rooted together in our most important goals.

     I am fully on board to build our log home. However, Big Dee has his ideas and I have mine. I see our home realistically. For years now I’ve worked with the elderly. I see myself going in that direction; who of us will grow younger until the day we become infants again? Well, I suppose some of us do, in a way. Our mothers will not be there to tend to us in our frail, aging years, but someone has to – our children, or a nurse, or maybe someone from our church.

     Big Dee visualizes a house with an upper level. It has a bathroom upstairs. I see myself falling down those stairs. I see myself resentfully schlepping my backside up and down those steps to clean the restroom. On the other hand, I envision everything we need placed downstairs: a kitchen and laundry; extra wide showers with rails so we won’t have to go into assisted living. He sees no need for these things because he has no intention of growing old - that’s just out of the question. We’ve both agreed: this is out last home. I just want to stay in it as long as possible; and I want to make it “elder friendly” now, not retro-fit it down the road.

     We explained this to our first architect. We found that his grand plans were going to cost us three times more money than we have. We scaled down, about twice. Our architect is a genius in his craft so you can imagine how frustrated he became with us. He wanted to go larger. The limitations of our bank account made us go even smaller.

     During this time, Dee and I consulted with about a half dozen log home builders. We found out that they all have different ideas as to what kind of materials we could use for the exterior. We have basically three choices: Log siding (exterior) over a traditionally built home, hybrid where the logs are hollowed out and a foam is put in them on the pretext of energy efficiency, and last of all, traditional logs. David and I considered all options and agreed that we want real logs.

     We consulted more builders. Some were in the business a relatively short amount of time. Others had been crafting log homes successfully for decades. Many couldn’t be bothered to call us back, or text us, or email us, or send up smoke signals. One never even opened his office door. I stood outside calling. Nothing. Nada.

     We recently met with a wonderful builder. His company’s been featured in a documentary on PBS. He remained behind the scenes letting the builders, stars and designers shine in the light. He answered all of our questions. I like that his cabins have been standing firm and efficient for nearly forty years. I am impressed by his designs. I walked into his original cabin and what I noted, almost down to the last detail, was a picture from the back of my mind. The only difference is that the loft does have a toilet and shower. Everything else we need is downstairs. I guess if things get bad enough for me, since sometimes I already have the beginnings of balance issues, I’ll just have one of my kids clean that restroom. I could even hire someone just to clean the upstairs. Help is, realistically, less expensive than assisted living.

     I think of this house building experience like a young woman or a young man dreaming of their life partners. They might want to marry the clean-shaven muscular man, or the girl next door. Instead, they grow and mature and fall in love with someone that was in the back of their mind all the time, not who they thought they wanted, but what they truly needed. Together these people grow together, learning how to compromise. Maybe “Bobb” wanted a tall blonde Norwegian looking gal, but later meets a stout, little woman with short dark hair and sees eternity in her eyes. That’s just an example of course.

     The point is, I had plans for my log home. Those plans changed and morphed. Then I saw other ideas and incorporated them. Dee would make a point and I’d consider it. In my mind’s eye was a picture of the antique furniture I’d inherited, in various spots. Now I am not so sure it will look right in each room.

     Soon, we will finalize plans. There’s just details and paperwork. The best laid plans, of mice and men don’t always go as planned. Sometimes we just have to make new plans.

For a useful guide to translating the original poem, please, consult: https://simple.wikipedia.org/wiki/To_a_Mouse