deck

We have one now. A deck in the backyard. A deck in one day. I carried lumber, slowly, methodically, carefully. That was my only contribution. I wish I could have done more, but had to consider my shoulder and the impact of hammering or lifting giant concrete blocks would have had on my general well-being. That he finished it in one day is a mystery to me, as is carpenter-like ability in men overall. He eyeballed the whole thing. He says it isn't perfect, but it looks good to me. After the top was on, my husband pulled my vintage metal patio chairs down off the fence and placed them carefully around Sid's plastic dog house.



As I attempt to edit this post -- get the words in the right place -- I look at the photographs and it occurs to me that someone, albiet someone with poor taste, might object to my vintage chairs. I intend to paint them after I figure out how to remove the rust, but the words of Antiques Roadshow linger in memory: don't fuck with the original finish. (They don't say fuck. You probably know that.) But I love these chairs. I stole them fair and square. Two words: they bounce.


Here's a closeup of the doghouse, so you can feel my pain.




Form vs. Function. An age old conflict. I think it is the basis of the battle of the sexes: It still works vs. it is made of plastic. If you go to craigslist, portland, pets, you'll find it there. 20$. Please buy it.