Painting the Deck

The reason I’ve been blogging less these days? I’ve been scraping, sanding, washing, priming and painting one of the decks.  This is a big deck, a foot on three sides less than the size of the living room, to be exact. It’s been a big job, but with a little touch up later today, I’ll be done.

Here’s a photo of the view into the neighbours backyards from that deck, which is on the second story.  I’ve been forced to use the old camera, so the quality won’t be the same as some of the other photos on this blog, but you get the idea.

 

Originally, the plan was to put a hot tub on that deck, but we never got around to it. But it’s a very good place to watch the sunset or keep track of everything that goes on in the neighbours’ backyards.

Ghost Box

When your youngest kid is seventeen, this is what the old sandbox looks like. Old Nanook, the dog for whom the dog house was built, is long gone, too.

And speaking of neglected things, visit Bugblaster and help keep his blog from becoming a ghost blog.

Car Wash Blues

This weekend I did my spring cleaning of the car.  I sprayed off the winter’s accumulation of grime and the spring’s muddy splashes, and then spent the last couple of days admiring my sparkling vehicle.  

This morning when I went out to drive youngest son to school, here’s what I found:  A very large bird (or so I assume) had done his business down the driver’s door from top to bottom.  It was too late to take care of the problem before I left, so I had to take special care while driving, double checking before I pulled out into traffic just in case there was an approaching tractor-trailor hidden behind the dried bird business on my window.

Since this wasn’t really something I could take care of with a spray bottle of Windex and a paper towel, I stopped by the car wash on my way home.  It’s is a busy place this time of year, and I took my place in line to wait my turn.  Eventually, I made it to the front of the line, with a couple of cars waiting behind me.  Just as the bay in front of me emptied, a black BMW sedan whipped in from out of nowhere and squeezed himself in front of my car, taking his turn ahead of me and everyone else who had been waiting.  It was a maneuver as admirable for it’s slickness as it was deplorable for it’s rudeness.

 

I did nothing. Neither did the other waiting drivers. What do you do when someone’s that blatant in their disregard for waiting line etiquette? 

 

But there was an interesting buzz among the other drivers, as if we were instant friends as we washed our cars. I had a story to tell when I got home, and the doo is gone. Would I really want things any other way?