WRENder me DEAF

CAPTION: "Next time, chi, chi, bring back a bug with a little meat on it."   

 

   Say CHIP ten times as fast you can! Good! Nice Job! Now take the plosive 'p' out of your vocal equation. Good! Now just say CHI ten times as fast as you can, Faster. FASTER. FASTER. FASTER. Congratulations, you now speak WREN. And it didn't cost you a dime.

       Watching the Wren life cycle is a whole different experience from watching Robins arrive and go. First of all, from what Peggy and I noticed, the Wren is not the best house keeper in Birdville. The nest they prepare just appears to be a bunch of random twigs shoved into a birdhouse. 

        In a bird sport metaphor the Wren is the sprinter. I think they could build a nest in an hour. There are no bugs on the planet able to escape a wren when it's time to feed the babies.

      We don't get to watch the babies develop 'cause they are stuffed inside a bird house that no other living thing dare enter. BUT, youuuuuu cannnnn hearrrrrr them.

      CHI, CHI,CHI,CHI,CHI.

      And it's kind of fun to follow their maturation via their CHI, CHI, CHIs.

      At first the CHI, CHI, CHI is constant and at a pitch level known only to dogs and martians. About the second day of watching Mommy and Daddy Wren shuttle trainloads of bugs to the nest, the pitch gets lower, at least low enough for Peggy to hear them, but not me. [all those years of wearing headsets in radio stations has finally taken it's toll.

       But as the days go by the CHI, CHI, CHI finally drops into my range. And you know what? Some times being hard of hearing can be a blessing. Well this adult sprint energy, babies chipping goes on for about a week and a half. And then lucky for us Peggy was sitting out on the deck when it happened.

       "Paul, quick, grab your camera and get out here."

        Wow!

      All of a sudden there are juvenile WRENS all over the place, some of them actually posing for the camera. They are still letting Mom and Dad feed them. But in a week and a half they have essentially been told, "Chi, chi, get out of the house and fend for yourselves, chi, chi."

        Watching Wrens, Listening to Wrens, Shooting ( with camera)  Wrens is exhausting. It's been an exciting privilege to watch and listen to the process. That said? I'm glad they're gone. I need a break, chi, chi. I'll be happy to see, chi, chi, chi, them next Spring. But for now I'm going to take a break and maybe answer one of the thousands of hearing aid ads I'm bombarded with every year.

          Chi, Chi.

          (You know that is very close to a chinese word common to most dialects. Its the most universal expression for thank you. Is that what this is all about? Do you think? Nah.......)

A Bird in The Bush

CAPTION: "O Solo Mio, I'd like a Worm, Oh!"

 

     A bird in the bush is worth a lot more than two in the hand. It is a rare opportunity to witness a good part of a lifetime in just weeks. How do I know that? Well I've had the time and rare opportunity to watch a pair of Robins build a nest, lay two eggs, have only one of them break open.

              I've watched Mom and Dad bring bugs and worms to feed what at first just looks a mass of pink protoplasm. That protoplasm somehow instinctively reaches out for sustenance. I've imagined Mom to be going through some tough post partem issues over only one of the eggs producing. Some days she just lays on the nest with her beak agape.

           I see new enthusiasm from her as Robin Junior starts to take some form. Closed eyes take shape, and hour by hour, day by day, little feathers pop up. That gap that had been taking in worms is slowly forming itself into a beak. The hard edges look as if they have the texture of teak.

           Junior's growth rate is hard to absorb. Within five days of hatching, aka birth, it's mass has easily increased ten fold.

   Mom and Dad don't spend the whole day at the nest.  I have to assume they are out feeding themselves, and doing whatever Robin couples do in their spare time. Maybe they are just getting out of my way so I can get some good pictures of the kid.

    When they are at the nest? They are not the best company in the world. If they are not dive bombing me in protest of my presence? They are feeding the kid a lot of food. One of them, I assume it's Mom, is just sitting there with it's jaw unlatched. She looks hot and exhausted.

    The other bird, I assume its Dad, shows up with the goodies and hands them to Mom, who in turn tranfers them to junior.

     Junior still doesn't have his eyes open, and with few feathers  his movement is still pretty clumsey and limited. But man, does this kid know how to find a meal. With that kind of high energy metabolic rate, I see little chance he'll be facing any obesity issues.

       I don't imagine I'm going to have them around much longer. Watching this process in the past from greater distance, I know a bird goes from egghood to adolescence to young adulthood in about a month. And so here is some thinking I'm having as I'm out riding my bike a few days ago?

       We tend not to give much esteem to birds. We talk of them as if they are stupid. (Bird Brain?) But I have to wonder if we can 't learn a bit from our fine feathered friends.

       Birth to teenhood in a month? Think about it. And the course of life so clear. Sex in early Spring, Kid Late Spring, Rearing Early Summer, and then more than half the year to just fly around chirping and eating.

       There can't be much call for Bird Shrinks. All life's tasks and moods are so predictable.

        There is romance, lust, drudgery of home building, pain of pregnancy, fear and amazement of child rearing, the sad sending of the kids out into the cruel world.

         But I think the real beauty and wisdom is that it all gets crammed into a few months out of a year.  AND, ALL BIRDS ARE DOING IT AT THE SAME TIME. Talk about misery loves company.

         There is always some one around to talk about it with.

      Tommorrow we can talk about Wren babies. My stepdaughter Rhonda and her husband Mark are expecting a little miracle in the Winter. Right now I'll bet they are wishing it never grows up.

      About a year from now I'm thinking they are going to wish their little bundle of joy is more bird like. That's just a guess.

        Tweet.

All Decked Out

Caption: "I hear they have PreFab Decks now made out of Talapia wood." "Really?"

        Before I put this story to bed, I guess I should repeat and toss in some new disclaimers. These Middle Lane stories are mostly true. And if I might clarify that? Most of the characters, even first person me, are composites.

         All the events described have in fact occurred. However they may not have happened specifically to me, my families, friends or acquaintances. 

         An early critic of the work once quipped, “What are you trying to do, be EVERYMAN?”

         Here is the answer.

         No, but I am trying to be true to Every Man, Woman and Child who has found it their fate to live in THE MIDDLE LANE. I think they would all join me in shouting out for the World to hear. IT’S MORE EXCITING HERE THAN A LOT OF PEOPLE THINK. And so, for the last time…………?

 

 

ALL HANDS ON DECK

                                        Part Twelve

                                     The Final Chapter

 

         A terribly interesting phenomenon takes place as you are wrapping up a Deck project. It’s not that it hasn’t been public knowledge you’ve been working on this thing. Yet, the absence of your friends and neighbors during the process is at best a touch of irony. And it’s clearly irony when just as you are about to lay the final plank? They appear from everywhere, down the driveway, over the back fence, out of the bushes, dropping down from the trees.

         And yes, they are carrying hammers, and nails, and screwdrivers (no augers), and board spacers. They are begging, nay demanding to be of assistance.

         It’s really heartening to know others care so much. That is, of course, until another recent DECK designer tells us a message is being delivered. What message?

         “Now it is your turn to throw a massive community barbeque to thank us all for our assistance.”

         We didn’t exactly jump at the hint. In fact ya’ll are the biggest crowd we’ve ever had here.

         Well so here we are. It’s finished. The well-meaners are back in their DECKLESS boxes. The four of us gather to admire our creation. We sit quietly, exhausted and proud.

         The silence is broken by my wife who is now snickering. You can barely hear her at first. But slowly the little twitter builds into an explosive guffaw.

         The three of us sit watching her, half smiling, half curious to know what inspires such glee.

         Finally Jeff breaks.

         “WHAT’S SO FUNNY?”

         In between spasms, she blurts it out.

         “I’m the one who called the cops on you!”

         Now we are all roaring with laughter. And you’d think? You’d think her’s would be the last laugh?

         But we and all our laughter is suddenly drenched by the one little thing we overlooked. THE SPRINKLER SYSTEM!

         “LOOK OUT! HERE IT COMES NOW!”

[Oh, and for the record, ALL of the photos (some gently photoshopped) come from my Nikon D70. I am SO DIGITAL! Only one of the decks is mine. You'll have to guess.]

Just Decky

CAPTION: "You know I was going to build a deck once, but I kept looking at all these bags of cement I was going to use for the four by four posts? And I kept looking at them, and looking at them......" 

 

    Here's something to ponder. I don't know why I remember this. But more than 30 years ago I was sitting around being philosophical with my friend Duane Laursen. 

       Duane is a retired science teacher. I don't even know what the topic was that illicited this lesson from Duane. But I do know he introduced me to what someone calls the "goal gradient."

       It is that statistical phenomenon that demonstrates the closer you get to your goal? Well, the closer you get to your goal the more dangerous getting there gets.

       Its fairly common knowledge, for instance, that far more car accidents happen close to our destinations than at the beginning of the trek.

       Well goal gradient just remotely has something to do with: 

  

 

 

          ALL HANDS ON DECK

                                     Part Eleven

 

         You’ll remember I told you about that shaky corner over there? It, of course, sits right above the ninth hole. It would likely be almost as sturdy as the rest of the deck? But, well you see that post doesn’t have any cement in there to hold it in place. Why? Well because we used up its allotment to fill up the original ninth hole. You can do the math.

         Now of course I could have called my Deck Analyst to ask for another bag of cement. But for three reasons I didn’t do that.

Reason number one?

It’s the weekend and my Deck Analyst doesn’t stay open weekends. Reason number two? Since it’s the weekend, the boys and I can get most of the deck built these two days.

 Reason number three? My Deck Analyst and his son would spread the word of our folly throughout Deckdom. Our reputations would be shot. So we just moved on.

         She appears!

         “How’s it goin’?,” says she with a well rested smile

         I was right. She doesn’t remember a thing.

         “We got all the posts in,” the boys proudly proclaim.

         “The rest is easy,” I elaborate.

         “Will you all be ready for some breakfast in about a half hour,” she says cheerily.

         “You bet!,” we respond with equal cheer.

         The All American Family story, eh?

         “Nite John Boy!”

 

      Finishing a deck can be so rewarding. Each piece of lumber put into place points towards progress. First the beams, then the joists, and then the deck cover itself, rising to form an escape from the reality of an urban existence.

         All the hassle seems worth it now. Oh, there are some minor tics in the final stage. Like what?

         My wife at one point demands we pull up all the deck planks and pull them closer together.

         “People are going to trip, fall and break their necks the way you’ve got them spaced.”

         We lift her up on the structure daring her to try and trip. She backs off with an , “Okay then!.”

         Oh, and you remember the three reasons I gave you why number nine is not cement secured? Well I don’t think I can live with myself without telling you reason number FOUR. In our haste to complete the project? We just forgot.

         Well you’ve come this far. You will not want to miss the exciting conclusion of “All Decks on Hand.”

         That’s tomorrow. I promise!

 

COPADECKAPHOBIA

CAPTION: "Quick, hide in the bushes. It's the heat (baby boomer slang for cops)."   

 

     The local International airport here used to be one of my news beats (DIA). One of the ongoing stories there was all the noise being made about noise.

           It all became very litigious over an issue that in my humble opinion (it feels so good to express one once in a while) is utter nonsense.  Have you been around a major airport lately?

       The commercial airplane engine noise by regulation has dropped exponentially. It's what they call stage three noise reduction. And if you live near a general aviaition airport? The little Cessnas are now the loud mouths.

          A couple of times my photographer friend Jim Weis and I would be out shooting a story with a noise protestor. They'd see a plane coming over head?

          "See what I mean," the angry at noise person would decry.

           Jim and I would have our heads turned toward the street where a volkswagen noisily sped by.

           What's my point here? None, except I got to express my opinion.  Oh, and its not a bad way to go about introducing:

 

 

 

           ALL HANDS ON DECK

                                           Part Ten

 

         We got that good nights rest. The three of us beat the Sun out of bed. We don just enough clothes to be seen outdoors. We mutually survey the battlefield and check to see if my fountain cement job held. We quickly measure a foot down from the engineering feet. We line up the new spot with the end post. Our eyes all meet and our heads harmoniously nod a GO!

         Since I haven’t done it yet, I’m given the privilege of yanking the engine rope. Let me try some onomatopoeia here.

 

“WHITTTTTTAHPLLLLLLUKUHPLACHUUUGKEPUHPUHPUHPUHCHRULLLLKHARUMP.”

 

         It is something like that. Volume? Imagine a Harley driving by without an exhaust system.

         Well, lights come on up and down the block. The only actual human protest we hear comes for the other resident of our house.

 

         “What in God’s name is going on out there?”

         This is expressed in a volume greater than that of the imaginary Harley. We pretend not to hear. We are too anxious to complete the augering ofthis final posthole.

 When we reach the required three foot depth we let Jeff shut her down. Wow! What a difference. It is like walking from a factory assembly floor into a forest. It is so quiet. Mike reacts like he sees something.

“I’m pretty sure it was a cop car driving by.”

They are throwing their spot lights into the bushes, driving back and forth looking and listening for something.

 We nervously start looking around for hiding spots. But finally we all see the patrol car disappear at the end of the block.

Now we know we have only my wife to contend with. She arrives at the backdoor with a severe case of lockjaw. Her eyes now meet the dimensions of hard boiled eggs. She has twisted her normally lovely form into a Karate stance. This will challenge my diplomatic skills.

“Something wrong hon?”

 

She lets out one of those extended “ooooo”s that starts really low and slow and builds to a violent crescendo. This is typically followed by the tossing of some liquid or a plastic container in the direction of her disdain. But we are lucky this time. She doesn’t have her contacts in. There is simply this grand Karate chop at a pocket of air. Then she dramatically turns and heads back to bed. We hear the slamming of the bedroom door.

I can follow her and try out some more of my ambassadorial charm. But there is no need. I know she’s is back in bed sound asleep. I know she’ll not remember a second of this event.

I stand by for a minute or two before launching the all clear. The boys, no braver than I, are hiding in the garage.

“It’s okay guys. You can come out now.”

We all sit down in a pile of dirt mapping out the next steps in whispers.

The physics text appears along a geometry chart, the plans and the ever present level. In little time at all, we have nine perfectly positioned posts. Well I guess number nine isn’t perfect positioned. We carefully pour cement in and around all the posts. Oh, except for number nine.

I’m going to let you wonder about the “why” of that until next time.

See ya!.

Dewy, Dewy, Deck

CAPTION: "Claude, mon ami, what do you suppose we ought to call our art?" "Suppose? Moi, Manet? What is your IMPRESSION?" "Hmmm?"

    

  I often tell my Broadcast Journalism students, "if you're looking for the power base of a community? Don't just follow the money. You also want to follow the water."

        It's water that can turn a simple deck into a Monet painting. 

        But then that is not always the case as we see in: 

        

 

         ALL HANDS ON DECK

                                  Part Nine           

 

         As I race to meet my destiny I wonder. “Have they unearthed the fountain of youth? Is the house sitting over a dormant geyser bed? Have we stumbled on to an inner earth passage to the  South China Sea? Are we only three feet above the water table? I thought it was supposed to be receding?” And there are some other inane water fantasy queries. I don’t know why I have these thoughts? I guess somebody has to have them.

         Finally the more critical rational thoughts reach my cortex. What if a neighbor asks me what we’re doing?  If I’ve struck a water main I can’t report it to any official. Somehow I’ve neglected to inform them I’m building an award winning deck.

         With all this on my mind I throw myself into the growing mound of mud. Fighting the water pressure, I shove the full length of my arm down Number Nine. I FEEL SOMETHING! OH! Thank God! It’s plastic. We’d just pierced a defunct sprinkler system line.

         I dispatch Jeff to the shut off valve and we are temporarily not in a crisis. Soon the water begins to recede.

Now my creative hero juices are flowing. It’s clearly a part of the sprinkler system that’s not been in use for some time.

         With that in mind I rush to the garage, mix up a bag of cement, rush it back to the crime scene and just pour it down the Ninth Hole. My work crew is just staring at me incredulously. These are not stares of adulation. That is quickly revealed when Mike emphatically utters, “you’ve ruined it!”

         “Ruined what?,” I reply with a defensive air.

         “What are we going to do about the post that goes there? It has to line up with the other posts.”

         Think Paul, think!

         “I know that.”

         Think some more Paul.

         “Well what are we going to do?”

         Mike is getting bolder but the interaction is giving me THINK time.

         “You’re not thinking this through Mike.”

         “What is there to think through?”

         “Lot’s of things.”

         “Okay, name some!”

         Eureka! A treatise comes to me.

         “See, it only has to line up one way. The direction of the beams is all that’s important. We just move Number Nine down a foot and we can still line it up with the two end posts. Of course it’d be more stable if we could also line it up with the side posts. But, hey, we’re in a predicament here. And it will still LOOK nice after we get it all covered up?”

         They share a puzzled glance. I think they think I might be right. I suggest we all get a good night’s sleep. We’ll drill the New number Nine, and set all the posts in cement tomorrow.

         I get no argument.

         You should get a good night sleep, too. We’re going to get an early start tomorrow.

Deck Sweat Equity

CAPTION: "Hey you big show off. My deck used to have a fountain, too! Maybe not as fancy as yours....but..."

 

     When I teased this chapter I spelled the name of this giant drilling tool A U G U R. Well that's just wrong, but I've found a way to recover from spelling shame. You see, for those of you of my educational limitations, AUGUR is a Roman Citizen who holds the responsibility of interpretng "the gods" opinions of any pending action.

 

       In restrospect I'm thinking "the gods" were saying.

 

                 DON'T DO IT!

 

     Oh, well, here we go with:

 

 

          ALL HANDS ON DECK

                    Part Eight

 

        The boys return with what I will describe as a humungous drill (it would show up in a going to the dentist nightmare) with a gas motor attached to the top. It's official name is AUGER.  While only by inches, this THING is taller and bigger around than either Jeff or Mike. If the two of them are on one side of a rudimentary scale, and the auger is on the other? The two of them would be way up, and the auger way down.

 

     They have successfully transported this BIG tool from the car to the site. Now they appear to be in need of some down time.

         This is a work day for me and while I’m a little uneasy about them operating this THING by themselves? I see the determination. I will at least stick around to watch them burrow down into the first post hole. 

         With me watching from a distance, with sweat on their brows, they get the auger vertical over the hole. I think I see some trepidation in their eyes, but determination is winning out. I’m standing back far enough to show confidence, but I hope I’m close enough to respond in an emergency.

         They pour in the gasoline. Now it is even heavier. Still they yank the starter cord, and the monster comes alive with a vengeance.

         As the auger makes its way down into the earth the boys are hanging on with desperation. Ever watch them mix paint at Home Depot? They would be the cans. I want to help, but their eyes are waving me off.

         Soon, as the drill turns? So, too, do they. At this juncture the “blame game” comes on the field.

         “Why aren’t you holding it tighter?”

         “Hey you’re the one that’s losing his grip.”

         Thinking they are well into the ground on hole one, they shut the behemoth down. The point of the auger is now lying horizontal. Now all of each of them is covered in sweat and little dirt balls. Mike says to Jeff?

         “How deep are we?”

         “I’d say about a foot.”

         “Come on. It has to be deeper than that?”

         “Look for your self hot shot!”

         “Okay, okay.”

         There is a brief rest which I’m pretty sure would be extended should I not be over lording.

         “Come on, two more feet to go.”

         I hang in there for the first hole completion and then politely excuse myself to go make some money.

         “You guys be careful with that thing, and take lots of breaks.”

         I doubt the caution offering is really necessary. I’m pretty sure the pace is going to slow just as soon as I’m out of sight.

 

         The slower pace is confirmed when I arrive home from the pencil and paper wars eight hours later. They are just about to start on hole nine. I’m pretty sure they’ve saved nine until I get here so I might admire their polished technique.

They have in fact improved big time. They are drilling shorter depths at a time, and have developed a technique of moving the excess dirt away from the hole with their feet. Every thing seems to be working according to plan. Plan, nor any of us unfortunately, are prepared for THIS.

         About half way down on hole number 6?  We strike water! A ten foot high water spout drenches the work force and me.

         I believe it is time for action. SUPER STEP DAD rips off his shirt and tie and runs towards “OLD FAITHFUL.”  To do what?  I don’t think you can even imagine what? I mean go ahead and imagine if you like, but show up tomorrow to see how close you get.

Hungry?

CAPTION: "Can I get that dragon fly medium rare, please?"

     What came first the Robin or the Egg?   

 

   One of the positive things about a deck is it compels you to get outside once in a while.  And once out there if you keep your eyes peeled, you see some pretty amazing things.

     That's a Robin's nest, ergo a just born Robin with it's brother still sleeping in. I know it's out of focus, and not very well lit...but visiting hours at this nursery are very short. And I just felt driven to share. I may go back tommorrow if Mama Robin Red Breast will let me.

      Think about it.  You're sitting around with your toddler some day, and the kid says:

      "Daddy, how are babies made?"

       "Listen kid, I've got pictures."

      That sure beats that phony STORK yarn.

       And think about it?

       "Well we all come from eggs, son!"

       I mean that IS true.

       Now if I can just get inside a Bee's nest?

       (You know, birds and bees?)

       It just dawned on me. If you've got the right ingredients, cliches work!

       Anyway this is all too exciting to share with the Deck Drama. We'll get back to that tommorrow.

      TWEET, TWEET! 

DECK site unscene

 

      CAPTION: "Built it all myself? Well, no! To be fair, the boys helped a lot."    

          Where would MAN, (Archaic generic term for male and female examples of the species Homo Sapien), be without tools? I think for society on whole, life without tools would have us spending our days plucking dandelions out of the front yard.

         On the other hand MAN'S progress can be attributed, to some degree, to keeping tools of any kind out of some MEN'S hands.

        Here we go with:

 

                        ALL HANDS ON DECK

                             Part Seven

        Preparing a deck construction site appears to be a simple procedure if you absorb the instructions. Let's see it says here to square your deck up with the house. What that isn't telling you? There are not very many truly square houses  on the planet. So when you are about to give up finding a match, just move away from the wall ABOUT a foot and try to square it off at that point.

     At each corner of your new boxed in area you drive little stakes into the ground. To those stakes you attach strings all the way around, and voila, you have an official construction site. Typically you'll just want to leave it that way for about a week to build up the courage to move to the next step.

      FIVE DAYS LATER: It's time to get serious. Me and my stepsons Mike and Jeff are chompin' at the bit. The first task this day will be to put in those four by four posts. My take on the task is we just go out and rent a post hole digger, and DIG in. But the rest of the team reminds me the posts are the most important step in the process. They think we should give this step a lot of thought. As it looks like I'm going to protest? They show up with their physics books and a level.

       I know I'm not going to understand any of it, [got a 'D' in physics in high school] so I come up with an escape clause.

         "Well you guys go ahead and figure this out. I've got to go to the John."

         Two crossword puzzles later there is a knock on the bathroom door.

         "I think we've got it."

         "I knew you could do it. I'll be right out."

          I march to the dog run to see it all raked neatly with carefully placed markers denoting the post hole locations. I survey the site with a feigned air of self asssurance. I look at Mike and Jeff and shoot them an "I'm Proud of You" wink.

       "Looks just about right guys."

       Jeff's echo?

       "Looks just about right? It's perfect."

       "Yeah, like you say, perfect."

       What the hell do I know.

       Well, I tenuously venture, "let's go get a post hole digger."

        They are looking at me as if I've just asked where I could park my space ship. They carefully explain to me that when their dad built his award winning deck, he used a GAS POWERED AUGUR to put in his posts.

        Once again, what the hell do I know. So I give them money to go off and rent something called an augur.

         You ever used an augur? Me neither and neither have they.

         You'll want to be here for this augur initiation. See you tommorrow. 

Deck Law

   CAPTION: "Now they say I have to drape curtains over the deck railing so no one can see me in my shorts."

  

        I once tore down a hundred year old garage. I then cleaned every single brick by hand to be used for a back yard patio. I then dropped about a ton of sand on the patio site in the middle of the summer. That sand was visited by every stray cat in a five mile radius.

      Normally I'm a pretty friendly host. But all these kitties found it necessary to leave their calling cards.

      Over time that put me in a bit of a foul and testy mood.

      Whilst in this mood one morning there is a notice on a post near the absent garage? It says, "You are in violation of ordinance blah, blah, blah for not completely knocking down the east wall of this structure. This is a clear safety hazard. You must call 777 777-7777 immediately."

      Background! I left about a ten foot long section of the East garage wall, about 10 bricks high, because I could NOT knock it down. It seems over the years that wall had been hit a few times, and a previous owner came in and sealed that sucker up with reinforced concrete. 

      I was in fairly good shape in those days and could swing a pretty mean sledge hammer. But against this wall I was nothing. It was clear to me should I choose to leave the thing up? It would be of no danger of falling.  

       Well anyway, to cut this a little short, I call the appropriate bureaucrat and somehow convince him to come out to the site to discuss this heinous violation?

 

 

       There wasn't much overt  communication when he arrived. It consisted pretty much of me handing him a sledge hammer and uttering, "HERE!"

 

       Well, he takes a few whacks of his own as I walk back into the house. I go back out there 20 minutes later? The sledge hammer is leaning against the wall. The zoning guy is gone? And so is the violation sign. And to my knowledge that little strip of garage wall is still in place. 

         I think that should effectively set the tone for:

  

       ALL HANDS ON DECK     

 

                                   Part Six

 

 

        So I’m leaving work and there they are. It’s a little pile of four by fours sitting behind my car. There is a little sign attached. It reads: DON’T HIT ME!

[Oh, what a wonderful example of double entendre. I must remember it.]

         I carefully stuff the posts in the backseat, only slightly ripping the upholstery.

         I get them home and nestled into the garage with the rest of the parts. I greet my wife and answer the “how was your day” query with “oh just fine.”

        I was lying, and she’d probably talked to the boys and knew I was lying. But I really didn’t want to get into telling the whole story. And besides, I’m just excited to be here with ALL MY PARTS.

         If you read the manuals building a deck is a very methodical, and not very artful process. As you might imagine the first step should always be careful SELECTION OF A SITE.

        Now for those of you who are excessively law abiding this is going to be a somewhat stressful process.

        To cover his rear your DECK ANALYST will tell you to contact your local building and zoning authorities before you get underway. They’ll let you know if there are any elevation restrictions that might infringe upon your neighbor’s airspace.

        These authorities will in turn tell you to talk to your utility providers for guidance on avoiding cutting or breaking gas, water, electricity or phone lines.  They'll let you know where all the existing lines are. 

“We just don’t want you to cause a major blackout or blow up the block.”

If you concern yourself with these matters to the letter? You will probably give up before you drive the first nail.

 

“Well, Paul, then how does one get around being a good Deck Building citizen?”

I’m glad you asked. My first suggestion is that you launch a campaign of intimidation with your neighbors. Generally remind one of them you saw his dog “BULL NOSE” running loose off his leash the other day.

Remind yet another neighbor of that furtive watering he has been doing after midnight during a drought.

I suggest not making any direct threats that will induce guilt, and inspire them to confess to authorities. Make the comments subtle and non-threatening so they’ll just lie in the back of the minds of your neighbors as you build your DECK by YOUR code..

With your neighbors and the bureaucracy seemingly out of the way, you are free to take a good look at your lot. I say look for a spot that has been a major irritant to you for some time.

For me it’s a dog run that, through the dog’s digestive and digging instincts, is now a barren wasteland. Even the weeds rebel against growing on this spot. Every once in a while you’ll see a thistle or two pop up along the edges, but even then the growth pattern is away from the stench.

Just take a nice long look at this eyesore and imagine it disappearing under your award winning DECK.

Well listen, don’t’ forget to be here tomorrow when we actually start laying out the site. I am SO EXCITED. You?

Deliver Me Oh Deck Analyst

CAPTION: "Hey there, big boy, why don't you come on over to my place and be my DECK?"

I'm sure we've all had SOMETHING that has arrived on time and in the condition it has been promised. I am as equally confident that the percentage of times that's happened? Oh, I will boldly suggest that for many of us that percentage is in single digits.

But life goes on, doesn't it? And so does our little Redwood Drama. Here we go with:

 

          ALL HANDS ON DECK

                                           Part Five

 

        I try very hard to keep my personal life separated from my work world. But hey, I’ve already killed this day. I rush to the restroom, throw some cold water in my face, and return to my desk. I do some soul cleansing deep breathing. And then I reach for the phone.

 I suppose I ought to pause here and explain why I’m so upset about not having any four by fours?  If you’ve not built your own deck, you should know the four by fours are the foundation of said edifice. They go in first. Without them a DECK KIT is rendered flat and sterile.

         Okay let’s get back to the phone. I have an odd skill of being able to memorize the phone numbers of people I’m angry with. This one just flies off my fingers. My DECK ANALYST actually answers the phone himself. He must give the receptionist a long lunch hour. Hell of a guy, don’t you think? Even answering the phone he carries this annoying air of never having experienced stress.  Like a good analyst he remembers me right away.

         “Say, my SON says you are quite a guy.”

         WHOOPS!

         “He says if you work as hard on building the deck as you did unloading it, its going to be a real show piece.”

         I cannot, I will not let this clever man settle me down. I’m mad. I’m going to stay mad. Besides I am buoyed with a new confidence from knowing the kid’s dad is not an attorney.

         “Look, you shorted me nine four by fours for the posts. Where are they?”

         “That’s impossible. Hold on. Let me check that out.”

         About ten minutes later I hear, “You’re right. They were sitting right by the warehouse to be loaded. Someone really dropped the ball on this one, and they are going to get a piece of my mind.”

 

         “I am not interested in revenge. I just want my posts.”

        

“Hey, no problem. Say you didn’t make out a check did you?”

        

“Well of course I filled out the check, and I have a receipt to show for it. Why?”

 

“Didn’t I tell you to check everything on the list before paying for it?”

 

“Yeah, but I was rushed and thought it might be nice if I got to work before midnight.”

 

“You see if the check has already cleared book keeping, I’m going to have to charge you extra for the posts.”      

 

Before this moment I’d never really understood the motivation some people have for planning THE PERFECT MURDER. I envision my DECK ANALYST standing under a deck where I have carefully notched the posts to collapse, thereby bringing the DECK crashing down on his head. I am standing over him as he is gasping for breath, and I say:

“Is something wrong?”

And you know what? He beat me to it again. And he steals my words.

“Is something wrong?”

“Hey, mister, I paid for those posts, and unless I get them without even looking at my checkbook, you and your book keepers are going to be eating REDWOOD sandwiches.”

Why is it that the stupid, irrational ramblings of irate customers so often get the job done. He comes back from the REDWOOD sandwich threat with this reply.

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m just going to swallow this one myself. The posts are on me.”

[IS HE READING MY DAYDREAM?]

“I’ll put them on the next delivery date in your area, and that will be Wednesday of next week.”

 

“Like HELL it will be Wednesday of next week. I want them RIGHT NOW!”

There is a short pause, and it sounds like he has his hand over the mouthpiece whispering to someone.

“You know my son is standing right here, and he is volunteering to deliver the posts free of charge to your office. I want you to know this is not like him at all. You should feel very lucky.”

 

It is clear to me now where this kid is learning his trade. It is also clear to me he is smarter than his daddy. I decide not to carry out the homicide for the kid’s sake. I just spit out a syrupy dose of sarcasm.

“Yeah, Lucky!”

What else can go wrong?

Don’t answer that yet. I’m pretty sure we are not in the clear by a long shot. See you tomorrow.

 

WOOD you give me a DECK hand, here?

CAPTION: "How much WOOD can a WOODchuck CHUCK?"

I've discovered over time that the connotations that come with the word LAZY really seldom apply. It is more appropriate to say, I believe, that someone is just not motivated. That person has other priorities.

I think we pass the negative tenor of that 'L' word on from generation to generation. And I really don't think it's necessary. All the elder generations want from the younger generations is some attention. Sometime the ELDER just has to work a little harder to get JUNIOR to take notice.

That seems to be the case as we catch up with our tale:

 

         ALL HANDS ON DECK

                                   Part four 

 

         Groomed for work, I stop by the garage expecting to see the DECK truck at least half unloaded. This is not what I see. What I see is this delivery person sitting in the cab of his truck. He is munching on a sandwich, washing it down with something from a thermos. He has the driver’s door open to let in the summer breeze, and he is gyrating to some raucous musical beat coming from his radio.

         This does it. This unleashes my madness.  I reach into the cab and shut off his inspirational static. I make sure he is in a position to see the swollen veins in my neck. I speak slowly and deliberately, making sure he does not miss a word.

         “Now get down out of that cab and get this truck unloaded.”

         He stares, and then recovers his unctuous profile.

         “Hey man, I just deliver. I don’t unload. Where have you been for the last twenty years?”

         I mumble something about not really caring that his daddy is an attorney, and yank him out of the truck. I grab both his shoulders and peer into his glazed corneas.

         “You and I are going to unload this truck together. We are going to unload it faster than anything you’ve done in your life.”

         I have to give the kid credit at this point. He clearly understands his personal health takes precedence over company policy. I’m sure we are breaking some sort of truck unloading time record. At one point he considers taking a breather? He gets one glimpse of my mood and just keeps moving. As the last bag of cement hits the garage floor? I say, “is that all of it?”

         He says, “God, I hope so!”

         He hands me the bill of lading suggesting we check everything together.

         “Sorry I’m late for work. I’m just going to have to take your word for it.”

         “Please, please, don’t take my word for it.”

         “Sorry, I’m out of time, here’s the check. I’ve got to run. Nice job by the way.”

         “Thanks.”

         He takes the check and hands me a receipt. I can sense his unease, but I’ve got to go.

         I arrive at work with a river of sweat flowing off my brow. My hair is twisted into little tight wet curls. I storm by the receptionist, and sidle into my desk chair. Here I will calm down and get my composure. My office mate looks at me and observes, “What happened to you?”

 

         I can’t even find the energy to offer up the predicted reply, “don’t ask.” Instead I just shake my head as he stares.”

 

     “Oh, I forgot! One of your stepsons called. He says it’s really important.”

         What now. I make the call.

         RING A DING DING!

         “Hey it’s not all here!”

“What? What’s not all here?”

“There are NO four by fours. They’re listed on the receipt, but they aren’t in the garage. What should I do.?”

“Just start arranging to pay my bail, and wait for further word.”

 

I must really want this DECK pretty bad. There is yet another twist a coming as I make yet another call to my DECK ANALYST. You won’t want to miss it. See you tomorrow.