Despite knowing little if anything at all about just about everything, I tend to be opinionated (if not obnoxious) about things.  Especially building cabins.  I sometimes even think I know what I am talking about (if my wife isn’t present to correct me).  It’s not an attractive feature of my personality but, like all human frailties, I can’t help myself and I do find some solace with the company of billions of like-minded fools who act as I do.  We’re armchair contractors. 

Worse though, I tend to share my opinions and ignorance like an act of generosity. “No, really!  Help yourself.  I have lots more advice where that came from!”

You’d be amazed at how infrequent are the requests for my advice.  On anything. 

On reflection, and with a rare encounter with self-awareness, I am inclined to believe that somehow ‘do-it-yourself-ism’ aggravates this ‘know-it-all’ condition.  But I could be wrong about that (heh heh, only joking!).  

 There is nothing worse for a professional contractor to hear than those opinions of the amateur next door.  Well, my doctor winces a lot when I mention my medical research on the internet so maybe it’s a universal problem for experts and knowledgeable people. 

I wouldn’t know anything about that. 

The latest poor soul to fall victim to my misplaced sense of expertise is my soon-to-be immediate neighbour a few thousand meters northwest.  He is building a cabin. 

The man is in his sixties, successful in life and proven capable in any number of endeavours, not the least of which was marrying a capable, competent and successful wife and spawning progeny equal in abilities to their parents.  They are a can-do family.

“So, I guess you have everything organized for the big build coming?” I ask with Machiavellian delight.  I know he doesn’t.  How can he?  He hasn’t consulted me (or my wife) and the task is a daunting one.  It sure daunted me.  I can still feel the daunts all over my body and in my bones.    

“Yep.  We’re good to go.”  I search the words for double meaning paying special heed to vibrations of fear, insecurity, confusion or doubt.  I remember those feelings well and want them shared.  But, against all odds, he seems to really mean it.

Still, confidence, expertise, ability and a healthy bank account are not enough to deter my generosity of information.  “Which barge service you using?”  

Hmmmmmmmm….this is getting harder.  “What’s your foundation?”   

“Well, you know, mixing concrete up here is pretty hard work.  Need any help?” “No.  Got a new mixer.  I wore out the old one!”

I may be a fool but I am not so much of an obtuse fool and it seemed to me that his  answers were better than my questions.  Maybe I had better shut up and just watch.

That nanosecond of self awareness thankfully passed.

 “So, ever built a cabin before?” I ask with the slightly pathetic tone of a guy wanting to tell his story.  I thought it might work.  It doesn’t. 

I had been dismissed.  “No.  No.  I’m good.  Good luck to you.  Doesn’t sound like you’ll need it, though.  Sounds like you are ready.  Good for you.  See ya!”  And then I leave much like I would leave the driving range when the local golf pro comes out to hit balls.  There is really no point in hanging around.  He doesn’t need me.