Yesterday my husband spent the afternoon working in the yard, disassembling a deck that was soon to be a personal injury claim. My mother in law stood in the doorway, asking why it has to go. In her defense, she is blind.
It seems things around here take an eternity. In other cultures, mañana is an acceptable time frame. In the US, we like to have things done. Period. Not at my house, but in general. It seems like success is a finished house, completed goals, a Martha Stewart garden. Anything that's in progress is, conversely, a sign of failure.
At my house, we are all process and not so much realization. The deck may lie in pieces for months, or it may be hauled away to the dump this afternoon. There may or may not be a replacement in our lifetimes. We will have many, many plans for the replacement.
But all is not lost. Lucy helped her dad take the deck apart and discovered a hornets' nest (vacated). Isn't it incredible how precise it is?
So now we're driving around and looking at other people's houses. We're thinking about a trip to Provincetown because we both always have architecture envy when we're there. It would be a great time to go photograph unsuspecting homes and see what we can duplicate.
You may be thinking wait, this is a deck. And you'd be right. And that's our problem, why things take so long. You see a deck (or not, as the case is today), we see a place to put a woodstove and hang out on chilly evenings, a flagstone terrace to put our breakfast table out on, the greenhouse my husband has been itching to build, a sunroom with attached terrace, a wrap-around porch with 2nd floor deck.....
And then my husband starts in about excavating the side of the house and making a walk-out basement. This is when I hold my head and sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star as loud as I can.