Weekend Wildcard: All Decked Out

I knew my deck project was a lost cause when I started. Having determined that there was more rotten wood than good, I should have followed everyone’s advice and torn the thing down.

But I was determined that I could at least make the deck safe enough to eke out one more year of use before demolishing it, and so I set out – with no particular plan – to fix it.

deck 2

Red marks the rot.

I ripped up the most rotten planks and filled in with lesser rotten planks. I cut the worst parts off of some half-rotten planks and nailed the better portions across the one- or two-beam spans they would still fit. I flipped some planks over so the cupping would turn to crowning (although I’m not sure what advantage I saw in doing that). The result was as hodgepodge as the process makes it sound.

I still saw potential. Build some steps here, fill in some holes there… maybe even use the beams that stuck out farther than my now reduced-size deck to frame planter boxes. By the time I was done, those House Beautiful photo spreads would pale in comparison to my deck.

Nothing up to this point required any monetary output. I aimed to continue that trend by repainting the deck with the same stuff I had used previously. The exact same stuff. The stuff I had purchased about 10 years ago. The stuff that had been sitting out in a shed, exposed to a decade of hot summers and freezing winters. It should still be good, right?

I pried open one of the five-gallon buckets of leftover paint. It was about half full and had separated into sludge at the bottom and murky liquid on top. After some effortful stirring, it looked usable. Maybe. There was another partial bucket of paint plus a full bucket, so I was good to go!

First, though, I scraped off the old paint that was peeling rather dramatically in some places. That took a long time, but I used it as a kind of meditative practice. Sitting on the warm deck, my 3” metal-bladed scraper in hand, I let my mind wander as I puttered along from plank to plank. The hardest part was avoiding splinters in my bottom.

I splurged for a gallon of deck primer because, after all, the previous paint job had only lasted eight years or so. The primer had to go on when the deck was dry. No problem. It hadn’t rained in two months, and in checking the forecast, there was only a 15% chance of rain. I checked a second weather app just to make certain. Then I primed the deck.

deck8

The primer made the deck look all shiny and smoothed some of the splinters down, so it was already a huge improvement. After three hours of drying (per the instructions), the deck was ready to paint. It was getting a bit cloudy, but a 15% chance of rain means it’s 85% not likely to rain, right? Besides, the report had shown the chance of rain decreasing as the afternoon wore on.

So on to the painting. The unopened five-gallon bucket of paint was unusable; the sludge at the bottom had actually solidified. The two partial buckets were workable, and after combining them, I had just enough paint to cover the deck. It looked really good when I finished. I mean, really good!

deck11

This is what the paint is supposed to look like. A thick, textured finish.

I cleaned up my painting tools in the garage utility sink, came inside and looked out the window at my beautiful deck. And it was raining. Yes, rain. Not just a trace. Real honest-to-goodness big drops like we hadn’t seen in months. And it kept raining.

Today my deck is splotched with what paint managed to stay on.  Where the paint went on thicker or had more protection from the rain, there is a gritty sludge that so far refuses to dry. It looks horrible. I mean, really horrible!

deck10

But! I’m still not giving up hope! When the remaining sludge dries enough that I can get out on the deck, I will reassess my options. I may have to invest in some paint that was manufactured in the current decade. I may have to admit that the end result will only be good for a year, if that.

At the end of most DIY projects around my home, I can stand back, look on with the satisfaction of knowing that I have made improvements, and most likely have gained a new skill or improved upon a skill already acquired. When this deck project is done… hmmm.

Well, there will be more room in the shed where the paint sat for years. That’s a plus. And I guess I could still turn the gaping holes between beams into creosote-laden flower beds. That just doesn’t bring on much of a sense of satisfaction, though.

Maybe the satisfaction will come when I rip the deck apart, plank by plank. The rain has stopped. This might be the perfect day for it. A little demolition work always lifts the spirits. And I wouldn’t have to buy more paint. A win all the way around, no?

Imagine that

imaginary1

Oh, there you are! My imaginary friend! I’m glad you showed up. I’m feeling a bit sad today. Well, maybe not “sad” so much… just lonely, I guess.

Anyway, now that you’re here, let’s play! Wanna sing songs? It’s extra fun when we make up our own words to the tunes. Or we could lay in the grass and watch the clouds go by. We can pick out shapes that look like animals and tell stories about what they’re doing up there in the sky.

imaginary 2

What’s that you say? You don’t have time to play with me? But imaginary friends always have time to play! They never change; they’re supposed to be there whenever you need them.

Yes, that’s what I said; they never change. Well, sure, I guess you do look older. But that’s okay, ‘cuz I still feel just as young as the day you first…

… imagined me.

imaginary3

Oh.

So you’re real and I’m the imaginary friend. And now that you’re older you don’t need me anymore? I see.

No, no… I understand. I’m okay. It’s just… sad.

Well, you go on, then. I know you’re busy. I’ll just sit here and…

Hey! There’s a little girl over there. She looks kind of sad, don’t you think? Or maybe not “sad” so much… just lonely.

imaginary4

Excuse me, little girl.  My name is Imogene. Wanna play? I know lots of cool games! You’re real, right? ‘Cuz – you know – I’m kind of… imaginary.

You’ll play with me? Great!

What? Oh, that girl I was talking to over there? Yes, we’re friends. We used to hang out together a lot when she was your age, but now…

… now she doesn’t imagine as well as she used to.


The Daily Post daily one-word prompt: Imaginary

Weekend Coffee Share 5/28/17

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If we were having coffee…

I’d offer you some cold brew out on the deck. We’re finally getting some sun and warmth and blue skies and flowers and singing birds. I love it!

Now that my kitchen is functional, I’ve turned my focus on the yard. I’ve started moving the seven cubic yards of wood chips from where they’ve been camped all winter just outside of my back yard gate. I need to clear access for the fence installers that are coming next week to set up a new fence along my back property line and replace the gate on the street side.

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Is it just me, or does this pile of wood chips resemble George Washington’s Mt Rushmore carving?

It will be a solid privacy fence. What’s that saying… “Good fences make good neighbors.”

Hold on… I want to look up who actually said that. Probably rude of me to hop on the computer while I have guests, but it will only take a sec.

Ah… Robert Frost. And it’s not a saying, it’s a line from a poem, Mending Wall. Interesting. I didn’t know that.

Frost writes about stones falling from the wall that separates his property from his neighbor’s. In the spring it’s time to mend the wall.

A few excerpts:

I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go…

They work together until they come to the end of the wall.

There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, ‘Good fences make good neighbors.’

The poet presses the point:

“Why do they make good neighbors?

Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense…”

The neighbor continues working for a bit.

He will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, ‘Good fences make good neighbors.’

You may read the entire poem here:
https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/mending-wall

*****
Sorry for the interruption of our coffee date, but I get curious about things. And I learned something new!

My neighbors and I don’t have apple trees and pine trees between us. They have an eclectic collection of – how shall I say this – crappy junk! I have daffodils, grape hyacinth, California poppies and St John’s wort.

Maybe they hate looking at my flowers as much as I hate seeing their junk. Who knows? But I’m so excited for the new fence! The installers will set the posts and show me how to put on the boards. It costs less if I do some of the work myself. And we all know how much I love to attempt new DIY projects.

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Maybe I’ll write my own poem about putting up my fence. Seriously. Okay, so I’m no Robert Frost, and my vinyl fence won’t be as picturesque as a countryside stone wall. But I’ll give it a shot. We all know how much I love to attempt poetry.

I guess I got a bit preoccupied today with fences and walls and neighbors and Robert Frost. And I’ve had too much caffeine now, so I’m antsy to get to work on… something. It won’t be shoveling wood chips today. It’s too hot. I have lots of projects to choose from, though.

Thanks for stopping by today. I hope you have a great week!


#WeekendCoffeeShare is graciously hosted by Emily at NerdintheBrain.com.  You can go there to check out what others are sharing over coffee this weekend. 

Loud Noises

lawn mower

The lawn mower rattles disconcertingly as I push it into the tall grass of my back yard. A vague image crosses my mind of the mower blade coming loose and hurling treacherously into space like errant nunchucks, and I remind myself to check under the mower deck once the machine cools down and make sure everything is secure.

I’ve always enjoyed mowing. Perhaps it’s the smell of fresh-cut grass, or maybe the instant gratification of transforming a ragged landscape swath by swath into a uniform carpet, literally right beneath my feet. And while I am averse to loud noises, the engine’s sound actually buffers me from the aural intrusions of other human activity.

I can be in my own world as I follow the pattern of circling the perimeter of the yard and working in an ever-tightening spiral until there is no more uncut grass. My mind disengages yet remains alert, and in that alertness I catch a slight movement to my left. A western scrub jay is perched on a branch just beyond my property line.

scrub jay

Blue and white with a soft grey chest, scrub jays are among the prettier birds that frequent my back yard. Known for their intelligence and their raucous, grating call, scrub jays are a mixed bag as far as cohabiters go. That’s okay with me, though. I’m a mixed bag, too.

To the right of the jay and closer in, a black crow rests on my reed fence. I’m surprised I didn’t notice the crow right away; it’s only ten feet from where I’m standing, and looks the size of a well fed cat. Shiny black eyes stare at me. I stare back. Politely, of course.

Crows – just like the jays — are highly intelligent and highly raucous. They have excellent facial recognition skills, and long memories – so long that a memory can be passed down generationally such that offspring can also “recognize” a face and know if it’s friend or foe without ever having seen the face before. As I do not want to be perpetually blacklisted amongst the crow population, I try to maintain good relations with the local murder (the term for a flock of crows). Hopefully my friendly overtures have paid off. This colossal crow could probably cart me away if it were so inclined.

crow

The scrub jay flits away as I approach, but the crow stands its ground. I take my first pass with the mower and look behind to see that the crow has dropped to the ground to survey my handiwork. Perhaps the mower and I have uncovered some tasty morsels in the lawn.

The crow stays close but keeps relocating, from the lawn to the wall that demarcates the eastern border of my property, then to perch in the tree by the back deck. It doesn’t dislodge until I am within ten feet of it.

It would appear that I was not meant to escape to my internal landscape today. I will allow my erudite feathered companion to share my mental space just as we share our physical space.

With my mowing completed, I push the machine into a shaded spot and move to the deck to rest beneath the now crow-deficient tree. So much for communing with the birds.

crow story

Maybe the crow wasn’t there to facilitate my “crow whisperer” aspirations. Maybe it was there to tell me to shut the damn mower off, so it could escape the intrusion of human activity just as I try to do. The thought hurts, but I can respect that. And I will try to comply as best I can.

I rise to head indoors, a bit deflated that my whole “I am one with the animals” fantasy has been trounced. A shadow crosses over the deck where I am standing and I turn just in time to see the crow, flying low straight over me as if to acknowledge my respect and say, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I whisper. “You’re most certainly welcome.”

crow2


The Daily Post one-word prompt: Exposed