A house full of holes

During dinner at our house, Joe will often announce his plans for the rest of the evening, which typically involve working on his school project and then working on some secret, personal computer project, although sometimes he will vary his routine and do the secret, personal computer project first. When we are finished eating he will leave the table with great energy and enthusiasm, clean up, sit down at the computer to begin his tasks, and promptly fall asleep at his desk.

He recently announced a new initiative in which, instead of going straight to his computer after dinner, he would go down to the basement and attack his current woodworking project. This would, he hoped, provide a change of pace and allow him to direct his energies more effectively. Of course the stakes are much higher should he fall asleep with a saw in his hand.

This new resolve was met with some dismay by myself, as his woodworking projects are often associated with the appearance of spectacular new scratches on the hardwood floor or other destructions to the room, which he only vaguely notices. In the middle of the floor in this room -- which is slated to become a family room -- are two distinct Zs etched into the floor, as if Zorro had been by twice and left his calling card, as well as the beginnings of another Z, as if Zorro had been interrupted the third time. Joe disclaims any knowledge of the origin of these marks, and seems unconcerned that Zorro, though a fictional character, has apparently visited our house three times.

The other night, under the guise of building a device that will allow him to look at several of his math books at the same time while at his computer, Joe descended to the basement and began his work. Normally when this occurs, the pleasant zzt-zzt sounds of a hand saw are emitted as the saw goes back and forth, back and forth. This time, however, there was a hideous, high-pitched whine that seemed to herald a thousand trees being cut down. I expected at any moment to see a vibrating saw come through the floor of the room above, possibly with Zorro at the other end.

When the torturous sounds finally ended, Joe came upstairs to announce that he had cut into the bump-out in the ceiling, which houses minor household things like water lines and phone cables, and that everything appeared perfectly in order. This was in preparation for taking down the whole ceiling, which is necessary to expose the old wooden beams assumed to be there. Doing so, it is hoped, will add to the ambiance of the room, while skillfully directing visitors' attention away from the Zs in the floor and the numerous other holes in the walls and ceiling, thinly disguised by wood planks and plastic sheeting.

"I thought you were going to work on a book tree," I said.

"Oh," he said carelessly, "I'll get to that. But first I have to see what's behind that other bump-out."

Oh, Zorro. If ever your assistance was needed, it is needed now. Just be careful with the floor.