Tuesday, June 22, 2010
The phoenix of order arises from the ashes of total porch chaos.
Our pals Jan and Rich rented a power washer this past weekend and I had mentioned that we'd like to get in on the action. Saturday was crummy - yet one more day in this dismal June of temperatures in the 40s and 50s (yes, I said 40s) and rain, rain, rain so I assumed that the deal was off - wrongly.
Suddenly Saturday afternoon I discovered that Jan and Rich had been hard at work on their place and pretty soon now we'd be in possession of said machine. I had switched gears and merrily had winter comfort foods like bolognese and stock burbling on the stove while my son and his pal enjoyed a Voyager marathon in the den. Power washing the porch seemed but a distant dream.
Now, you have to appreciate the state of my porch to understand why coming into a time-limited power washer induced no small amount of panic among my insides. My pals on the island are smiling knowingly now. As of Saturday, our front porch had pretty much evolved into an outdoor closet, with every manner of useful and not-so-much items littering one's entry. There was a tiny path from driveway to door that welcomed both inhabitant and guest alike into our home.
It was ridiculous. And humiliating. It had taken us many months to grow it into such a state.
But, enter power washer. And a 10AM deadline.
We fell out of bed around 7:30, half and hour behind schedule already according to my precise timetable laid out on the kitchen counter the night before, and got to serious work.
And by golly, it just wasn't that bad. Not the way most guys would choose to spend the wee hours of Fathers Day, but hey - by 9:30 we were done, I spirited the machine back to its rightful owners, and now we have this back. A real, live outdoor room that is once again a joy to spend time in and no longer an embarrassment to stand behind when a car pulls up.
It's the little things, I guess.