Weekend Wildcard: Building Plans

I got kind of waylaid in recounting my Summer Spots visits. Spoiler alert: I did complete the requisite 15 site check-ins to qualify for the drawing. Second spoiler alert: I didn’t win anything in the drawing. That’s okay, though. Chules and I had fun seeing the sights. And I’ll get around to posting about the rest of the sites soon.

What derailed my blogging was a late summer building project.

I had been knocking around the idea of making a play structure of some sort in my back yard for my grandkids to enjoy. We’d talked about it, and they had drawn up “plans” for what they wanted. Some of their ideas defied the laws of gravity, some defied the limits of my budget, and some had good potential.

After a prolonged conceptualization phase, I figured I’d better put my muscle where my mouth is, and I set about coming up with a real plan. My first draft looked like an outhouse with windows.

I then advanced to something that resembled a roadside fruit stand.

I can’t find the subsequent plans I drew, but they were equally inspirational.

I ordered materials from the lumber yard and set about digging post holes.

Having successfully built a square deck last year, I figured I could easily make a rectangular frame out of 4×4 posts. Unfortunately, I figured wrong.

I tried to determine what geometric shape I had made, if not a rectangle. I still needed to put a square roof on it, after all.

It was time to conjure up some optical illusions.

It didn’t help that most of the posts and boards picked out by the lumberyard were warped, some had significant splitting, some weren’t pressure treated as I had specified, and some – well, I couldn’t remember why I had ordered those particular size of boards in the first place.

Nevertheless, I persisted. I had to get creative to make some things work, and when I ran out of materials, I made do with odds and ends I had about the place.

It seems sturdy enough, though, and the kids like it. If you stand way back and squint real hard, it even looks pretty good.  

I think I’ve placated the building bug for now, so I’ve returned my attentions to the front yard. Here’s my plan for that:

I’ll let you know how that goes.

Weekend Wildcard ~ Cowboy Style

My daughter texted me this morning:

Question… if you asked me how I wanted my eggs and I said “cowboy style,” what would that mean to you?

My answer (of course!) was “however they turn out.”

She said that was her understanding as well, but no one else she had consulted was familiar with that phrase in terms of egg cooking.

“Cowboy style” was pretty much how I got my eggs all the time growing up. They might be “over easy” if it was a hectic morning with little time for breakfast. If the cook (Mom) got distracted and the eggs stayed in the skillet too long, they became “over hard.” If the yolk happened to break, you got your eggs scrambled.  

Was “cowboy style” just a Mom-ism? A more kid-friendly way of saying “you’ll get what you get and like it?”

That was fine with me. In fact, when my dad took to making omelets, he was soooooo slooooow at it, that I would have much preferred cowboy style. Come to think of it, when I make omelets now, I do them cowboy style. If they stick in the pan and start to break up or if I get impatient waiting for the eggs to set, the menu changes and they become scrambled eggs. No muss, no fuss (another great phrase, by the way).

A google search of “cowboy style cooking” came up with a posse of recipes with lots of “yee-haw,” “giddy up” phraseology, and even a reminder to “wipe the cow patties off your boots” before sitting down to eat. (Let me jus’ wrangle up an eye roll emoji right here, y’all.)

The definitions of cowboy style are myriad: easy to make, hearty, cooked all in one dish, cooked over the campfire, bone-in (so you can pick it up and eat it with your fingers), …

Then there’s the outlier (or should I say “outlaw-er”) recipe for CowboyStyle Baby Green Salad with ingredients like shaved Pecorino Romano cheese, extra-virgin olive oil, balsamic vinegar, sea salt and freshly ground pepper.

I would have imagined a cowboy salad to be more along the lines of a wedge of iceberg lettuce with Ranch dressing (out of the bottle), which coincidentally was also a staple of my mom’s recipe repertoire.  

Well, boy howdy! I have a hankerin’ to rustle up some eggs now, so I reckon I’ll stop right here and mosey into the kitchen to make breakfast. Y’all have a great Sunday!

Weekend Wildcard: deck update

I was looking back on previous posts on this site, and came across the horrendous photos I’d shared a few years ago of my rotting deck. Well, the photos weren’t really horrendous, I guess; the deck was.

I had written about how I could drive a pitchfork through the deck boards, how I wanted to coax another season out of the rotting boards by removing the most dangerous ones, and repainting the remainder with the decade-old sealer that I had stored from the last time I had done any work on the deck. And then the sealer had mostly washed away in an unexpected rain squall that came through just minutes after completing the paint job.

Well, I’m happy to report that this past summer, I actually replaced the deck!

Ripping up the old deck was every bit as fulfilling as I had expected. Demolition is fun when it’s intentional! The deck boards had been nailed to humongous creosote-soaked beams 12 feet long and with a diameter of 36 inches.  Seven of them. Six and a half, actually, since I had already removed half of one beam that had rotted clear through.

The hardest part was moving those beams out of the way, which I managed a few tedious inches at a time with a shovel and some boards to slide them on. Then I set about constructing my new deck.

The new deck is half the size of the old one. I built it using a plan I found online. It’s nothing fancy, just a 12’ x 12’ square. This spring or summer I will seal it (with new sealer, not something that’s been sitting around for years – gotta protect my investment).  

I can’t wait to spend time on my new deck once the weather moderates. And I can’t describe how immensely satisfying it is to look out my window and see my own handiwork rather than the dilapidated structure it replaces. Simple pleasures, I guess.

I’m still working out what to do with the old beams. I might use them to replace other creosote-laden railroad ties that were used around the property as retaining walls. My next big project, perhaps. A few inches at a time.

Weekend Wildcard (Flashback #4: Breaking the Barrier)

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[Flashback #4 is my re-posting from a blog I wrote several years ago about my struggles with depression. My purpose in revisiting the “old” me is to remind myself and any others who care to read, to “claim the positive energy that is available to each of us for our own benefit and for the benefit of others.”]

This is a post from July 19, 2012:

Breaking the Barrier

“Things are only impossible until they’re not.”  
~ Jean-Luc Picard, Star Trek: The Next Generation

I came across a website the other day, DepressionTribe, which is a community site for people who are affected by depression. The philosophy of the site is that “individuals become empowered to help themselves and others when they feel a part of something larger.” The site allows members to create profile pages and share stories, photos, videos, music and artwork; to chat, participate in  groups, and leave comments; and provides a venue for creating personal blogs. I haven’t poked around the site enough to make a recommendation, but it looks interesting.

While reading some of the members’ posts on the site, I was reminded of how destructive depression can be. I didn’t think I would ever need to be reminded, since I was living it day in and day out for so long. But reading about the hopelessness, the fear, the frustration and the hurt made me realize how fortunate I am to be experiencing a reprieve right now. I am riding a wave at present, enjoying life and appreciating all that I have been blessed with. I’ve come through to the other side. I have survived. Again.

My experience is that depression is a cyclical thing in my life. While I try not to dwell on it, I do not think I have seen the last of it. There has been a shift for me, though. I am choosing to savor my current contentment without constantly looking over my shoulder and wondering when I will be hit by despair once again. I am living life in the moment for a change. And I am continuing to make gains in physical and mental health that I hope will help me down the road when the wave crashes again. Maybe I won’t fall so far next time, maybe I won’t stay down so long. Maybe I’ll be able to remember that I was healthy and happy not so long ago and that will give me more strength or more hope for seeing it through yet again.

Life isn’t perfect right now. There’s that whole nagging issue of having no clue as to how I am going to make it financially in the future. But otherwise, things are better than I thought I could ever expect. I am reminded of the four minute mile. People used to think that running a mile in under four minutes was a physical impossibility for humans.  Runners came close to completing the mile run in that amount of time, but no one could break through that four minute barrier.

In May of 1954, runner Roger Bannister did the impossible. He completed the mile in 3 minutes, 59.4 seconds, disproving the notion that it couldn’t be done. And soon after, other runners began beating the four minute mile as well. What had seemed to be a physical barrier had perhaps been more of a psychological barrier instead.

When we’re depressed, it sometimes seems impossible that we will ever be happy, that life will ever be worthwhile. I have proven to myself that that does not have to be the case. We all have different circumstances, of course, and some of us have greater burdens to overcome than others, but a better life is possible if we don’t give up.

The barrier has been broken for me, and I am doing everything I can to ingrain that into my mind. The theme from Rocky is running through my head, and I feel all inspired to go running now. But I think I’ll settle for a walk to the mailbox.

One barrier at a time.
Maggie

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.

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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.

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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!

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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!

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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?

Weekend Wildcard: Cuteness Break

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This past week has been a tempest of chaos on many fronts and in many parts of the world. We are in the midst of very stressful times, and with 24/7 media, it is easy to become overwhelmed by all the crazy stuff going on these days.

While it’s imperative to stay engaged — at whatever level seems right at the moment –, it’s also necessary to step back sometimes, unclench my jaws…

and look at photos of cute pets.

I know, I know… Facebook… Instagram… blogs… they’re glutted with fuzzy/furry/feathered little faces.

But you know what? I’m going to happily and shamelessly add to that glut. I’m going to indulge myself in cuteness overload. My blood pressure will thank me, my jaws might stop aching, and I might even lose that recently acquired eyelid tic.

Here’s hoping.

(BTW: Today is National Dog Day, but we’re going to let a couple of cats slip in here, too.)

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Sebastian and Chules are hiding under the bed in response to my rendition of Neil Diamond’s Sweet Caroline.

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Finnigan has a very colorful personality.

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My cat Thursday is trying to look adorable so that I will feed her a second breakfast.

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Chules is learning to play chess.

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Bella in the snow

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Sebastian is out from under the bed.

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Chules and his buddy Brisco

Ahhh, I feel much better now.

I wish you all restful and pleasant moments this weekend.

Shalom.

Weekend Wildcard: It’s All About Me

1 WILDCARDIt’s a peaceful Sunday morning. Rain is drizzling outside after too long of a dry spell. The air smells fresher, the flowers are standing straighter…

and three people were killed yesterday and many more injured as a result of a white supremacist rally in Charlottesville, Virginia.

Oh, yeah, I forgot my precautionary statement:

WARNING! I’m writing about controversial topics today. Those who don’t want to read about my concerns, fears, anger, righteousness or whatever else might come up, please feel free to pass on today’s post.

No judgment. I’d likely pass on reading many people’s opinions, too, especially if they didn’t mirror my own. And I’d much rather read (and write!) about the nice relaxed Sunday morning I’m spending with a strong cup of cold brew, contented pets napping on the sofa, and a cool breeze coming in through the open windows. But I’m writing about divisiveness and responsibility instead.

I’m not a person of color, a military veteran, physically disabled, or of a minority race. I’m not a Democrat or a Republican. I’m not wealthy. I’m not poor. I vote, but it isn’t really anybody’s business as to whom I vote for. That is, after all, why voting is confidential in the United States.

I’m a middle class, straight, white ‘merican. Privileged to the hilt. Some might think I don’t “get it” when it comes to the horrible discrimination and bigotry engulfing the world today. That’s okay, though, because

IT’S NOT ABOUT ME!

“It” is about the current state of affairs in the USA, in the world, in Charlottesville, VA and in the town I call home. “It” is about violence, prejudice, hatred and all the –phobias. It’s about freedom… of religion, of speech, of political ideology; the right to tote guns around if one so desires, and the right to walk down a street with a reasonable expectation that one won’t be gunned down.

“It” is about morality, human decency, equality, compassion, working in unity for the betterment of all.

The more I think about “it,” the more I realize

It’s ALL about me.

And it’s all about you. It’s about your neighbor and your fellow citizens and the immigrant family down the street, and the citizens and families in other countries that might be wondering when and from which direction the nuclear bombs will soon be coming.

I have all the answers to all these issues, and so do you. Most likely they’re not the same answers, maybe not even by a long shot. But we must look for answers, discuss “it,” and search for common ground, common decency, and common sense in addressing “it.” Because you and I – no matter how we are sliced and diced in societal definitions and identities – are the only ones who can find and lead the way through these self-created mires.

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Today I will do something – something with love and rationality and peaceful intention; something towards stopping violence and hate. I ask that you do something likewise.

Today, as I sit in my cozy home enjoying the privileges of freedoms and presumed safety that I so often take for granted, I will remember with gratitude those who have made and continue to make them possible.

Today I will honor those killed in defending human kindness, and I will mourn the fact that such defense is even necessary.

Tomorrow I will write about the cooling breeze and the freshness of the cleansing rain. And I will repeat today’s commitments. Because that is the only way humanity can be redeemed.

Weekend Wildcard: Failing the Pitchfork Test

1 WILDCARDIt’s a sunny summer Saturday, and I’m sitting on my back deck enjoying the morning coolness before the day heats up.

Technically, I have only three quarters of a deck right now. It seems that after 50 years, the wooden planks have decided to disintegrate. Not totally surprising… after 50 years my body began the same process.

I’ve been trying to cajole the deck into surviving another three to four years so I wouldn’t have to address the situation (and pay for a solution) any time soon. But I noticed a couple of spots that were getting downright spongy, so I had to do something.

Not to worry. I had a plan. I grabbed a rusted can of coagulating red paint from the garage and figured I’d go out and mark the soft spots so people would know where to avoid stepping. The more I inspected the deck, the redder it got. I wondered if I was going to run out of paint before I ran out of rotted areas to mark.

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Then I decided to give the deck a more definitive safety check, the pitchfork test. Very few people realize that the pitchfork is a well-tuned, precision measuring tool. And I just happened to have one in the back yard. The test involves positioning the pitchfork over a suspect crack in a deck plank and plunging the tines into the wood to see how far they sink in.

The deck failed that safety check most resoundingly, as about half the length of the tines disappeared into the board. The toughest part of the test comes with trying to pull the pitchfork back out of the board, but I managed with some effort.

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Okay, so the three to four year timeline on repairs would need adjusting. Significant adjusting. I decided to rip up the worst part of the deck, inclusive of the skewered test board, and figured by the time that was accomplished, inspiration would have struck and I would have a plan for resolving this matter. Apparently I worked too efficiently; by the time I got the planks off there were still no inspirations in sight.

The planks had been attached to some humongous creosote-laden beams that looked like railroad ties on steroids. That was promising. Maybe I could just buy a few boards to replace the worst of the bunch, hide the remaining red stripes and call it good.

But then I noticed some interesting splintering on one of the beams. Time once again for the pitchfork test. Aaand…

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another stupendous fail. By the time I got done establishing the extent of rot to the beam, I had pitchforked my way clear through it.

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So, yeah. It’s time to regroup here and figure out Plan B. Or C or D.  In the meantime, I just won’t be playing with a full deck. Not something all that uncommon for me anyway.

Oh, I almost forgot. How do I know the deck is at least 50 years old? A lovely woman named Ruth stopped by my house the other day with an envelope of photos of the property from 1967 or thereabouts. She and her husband had owned the home at that time. One photo shows the deck, which at that time appeared to have no red paint whatsoever.

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Anyway, it’s getting too warm out here on the partial deck, so I guess I’ll head inside and see what the rest of Saturday has in store for me.

I wish you a happy weekend, and I hope nothing rotten happens to you.

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