The work had been planned for months. The original flat roof for my studio needed to be replaced, and we were pleased when the contractors showed up to begin during a sunny week. They had to strip the roof down to the rafters to replace rotting boards, but one of the workers lost his balance and punched his leg through the studio ceiling, knocking out a huge chunk of plaster board. He wasn’t hurt, but I was suddenly faced with an unplanned project—the deconstruction of my studio. I scurried to get my printer out of harm’s way, and since the repair was going to require quite a bit of putty and sanding, I had to remove everything from the surfaces. Decades worth of careful piles had to be moved, art proofs taken down from the walls, plants relocated, and the space emptied of everything but the cabinets. I felt like a mother bird whose nest had been removed—I just kept circling around the empty room squawking. We wrapped the remaining cabinets in plastic, and my husband and I started making plans to repaint. I had to stop feeling sorry for myself and remember my window taping skills. Now three weeks later, I have a freshly painted studio and new blinds on the way. A clean space ready for new energy. Unplanned perhaps, but now gratefully appreciated.