The weekend was a taste of the summer to come...Point Roberts: garden/yard time, beach fun, BBQ-ing, and shed installation! A place to play, a place to work. At least, that's the idea.
Friday, Molly had one last performance as a Kindergartener. Her class presented a quartet of sea shanties. She rocked out. If anyone could make a starfish song her own, it was my girl. Singing at the top of her little lungs. She is a dainty will o' the wisp but the girl has a thespian inside her raging to come out. Her inner performer will emerge one day, of that I am certain.
While Moo sang, her father was engaged in a true labour of love over the border: organizing the delivery of my brand new writer's shed. No small feat, since delivery entailed a massive flatbed rig with a huge hydraulic hiab crane. And a potential customs disaster (averted, thankfully, but stressful nonetheless). And the destruction of about a third of the fence that I posted about with pride earlier. When the kids and I arrived, it was my most fervent desire to see the shed in place. Not because I wanted it to be a fait accompli. More because we were paying for the truck by the hour. I arrived in what would have been hour five!
Here is what I was greeted by:
Hmmmmmm. That doesn't look wrapped up at all. In fact, the shed was pretty much in the middle of the road still. I left the kids in the car across the street in the neighbour's driveway. I wandered over, very gingerly, hoping against hope that my overtaxed and uber-patient husband wouldn't spit in my face and turn his back on me for welcoming this massive headache into his life.
"Umm, are we still talking...or?"
The man was a prince. He was sweat covered and filthy. Hot and mildly frustrated. But still in the game. At that point, it was like an especially vexing challenge that had to be overcome.
There was something ironic to me that in my pursuit of a peaceful place to write in nature, I brought in an extraordinarily noisy truck (like really, really noisy) that kinda wrecked the nature. See below:
Let's just say that one very noble rhododendron has made a considerable sacrifice to my art.
While we fretted and wrung our hands, the children reacted thusly:
Lucas pretended to be involved, totally digging the massive machinery (though not the noise, as you can see).
The girls were completely and blissfully unaware of the entire situation. Somehow, without missing a beat, they switched to mostly sign-language (yes, I think you are getting the picture...the truck was very loud). They bounced around on the trampoline about twenty feet away. When all was said and done, they were like, "Oh, cool shed." Then on to something else.
The work went on, heads were scratched and cranes were strained. There was some concern about power wires.
There was worry over the placement of our concrete block "foundation".
And then, finally, there was joy.
Eric, you are the very best, most loving husband in the world to take on this exercise. The shed is sitting pretty in its new home. All it needs now is good name...any suggestions?
Here is the best picture of the day...I love it because it looks like this lovely little outbuilding has been there for years. It looks like it belongs. Which...it does.
