The Clive Saga Chapter 14

Perfection Is the Enemy of Good Enough

Scene: The Hacienda Repair

The day began with a whistle — not from a kettle or a tune, but from the vent that’s haunted the Hacienda since the wall came down. Every summer it sings like a ghost in the ductwork, and every winter it sulks behind a temporary patch.

I finally decided enough was enough. Two chairs, two forty‑eight‑inch shelves, and a long worktable later, I had my battlefield. The new vent: six‑point‑one‑two feet long, two feet tall — pure overkill. I could have spent a week crafting a cherry‑and‑walnut masterpiece, but let’s face it: I might not live to finish it.

When Don Clive saw the plan, he nearly rattled himself apart.

“Oh my, El Sargento, you can do better than that for our little Hacienda.”

I told him what I tell every finish carpenter and cabinet maker who wanders into my conscience:

“Yes, Don Clive, I could have done better. I can always do better. But I have to get this finished. Perfection is the enemy of good enough.”

He leaned back, poncho rustling like parchment.

“Just calm down there a minute, Kid, before you get your panties in a knot.”

“Clive, when you’re talking to a man, the saying is get your tighty‑whities in a knot.”

“Hang on there, Kid — you said man. How’s that applicable in this situation?”

“Dang it, Clive, you know good and well I’m seventy‑two, a father, and a grandfather. I think man is applicable.”

“Kid, you’ve got to call me Don Clive. It isn’t appropriate for someone of your standing to be calling me by my first name like an equal.”

The Great Supervision Debate

“Well, Kid, you left me all alone today when I should have been overseeing your little Hacienda repair.”

“Don Clive, I needed both chairs and some shelving for a makeshift build platform. I left you in the cool of the shop.”

“Except, Sargento Juan, you forgot my Mt. Dew and my snacks. And you can spell dehydrated — D‑O‑N C‑L‑I‑V‑E.”

“You don’t have any flesh or blood to get dehydrated.”

“You’re just splitting hairs there, Kid. Are you sure you didn’t go to law school?”

“Don Clive, I have a B.S. in Laboratory Medicine — I’m a scientist.”

“Well, Kid, I’ll try to remember that, but you aren’t looking too good yourself.”

He wasn’t wrong. The south wind was hot, humidity 11 percent, and I’d been working in it all day.

“That would explain why you’re sucking down everything liquid you can find in the shop,” he said. “Also your flushed skin, prickly feeling, and the fact you’ve stopped sweating.”

“Don Clive, I know the symptoms of heat exhaustion and dehydration without getting educated by someone who almost finished the fifth grade.”

“Kid, you know good and well the best education you can get is one in the school of hard knocks.”

“Do you want to tell me more about that, Don Clive?”

“That’s on a need‑to‑know basis, and you don’t need to know — so quit asking.”

Closing Scene

I told him I’d hydrate and work on walking sticks for a while. He nodded, satisfied, the eternal foreman of the Hacienda.

“Good enough, Kid. But remember — perfection may be the enemy of good enough, yet laziness is the enemy of Don Clive.”

And with that, he went back to supervising the shop — skeletal, smug, and utterly indispensable.

Next Chapter: Don Clive and the Case of the Missing Mt. Dew.