Patio Time

         I much prefer to sit on my kitchen patio but my handsome husband Mike invited me to come and sit on the front patio, his patio, with him. We were sitting there enjoying the mild evening and this helicopter came flying in and landed on one of our hillbilly patio tables, aka a tree stump,

          “Holy cow!” I exclaimed. “What is that‽”

          Mike hadn’t seen it. I don’t know how he missed it. It’s huge! For a bug anyway. I got down on my belly and snapped a couple of pictures.

         “It’s a Crane Fly.” This guy was quite patient while I changed angles. Then he had enough and took  off.

          “Peg, weren’t you afraid of him?” you ask.

          Nah. At this stage in the life of Crane Flies, they have no mouth parts and they don’t have a stinger either. Their only purpose is to reproduce and be food for the baby birds and other critters.

        Another evening, a doe came out of the brush with her fawn. She knew we were there but stood still while the baby suckled.

          After a while the baby finished and the pair walked on around the pond.

           But as I said earlier, the kitchen patio is my favorite place to sit and this week we did a little beautification out there.

          (Don’t judge. I know it could use a little more beautifying.)

          I had a box of old photos that my beautiful Missouri gal just about gave to me. Old cars, car ads, and three old west portraits. “Now that my patio doesn’t leak, we can hang them,” I said to Mike. “Will you put ‘em up for me?”

          He thought about it for a minute. “Do they have hangers on ‘em?”

          Well, that was a good question! I started flipping them over and most did NOT have hangers. That led to a search through junk boxes and catch-all’s. We found just enough. Actually, there might be a few more around here but who keeps looking after you’ve found enough? Then we had to find twice that number of tiny nails to put them on with. These things always take longer than you think they should. We took everything out to the patio.

          Mike sat in the chair, his back already bothering him. “I need a tape measure and a pencil. Will you go get ’em?”

          I thought about saying, “Just eye-ball it. I don’t need perfect. I’m happy with good enough.” Since I asked him to help, I’ll let him do it his way. I heaved a sigh and went for the things he requested. He’s going to make this a job, I thought.

          Mike measured the width of the frame, divided it in two, made a mark. He lined up the hanger. “Use the needle nose pliers and hold the nail for me,” he requested.

          I did. The first few went okay, then they started going crooked. I got a little testy. “Hit it straight!” I demanded as I used the pliers to straighten yet another tack.

          “I am! You’re holding them crooked!”

          “Give me the hammer!” And I took it from him. A few good solid whacks and I had the tack beaten into submission.

          “You’re gonnna break the glass,” Mike warned.

          I didn’t, and I gave the hammer back.

          We were working on each other’s nerves by the time it came to hang them. We started with the three western ones in the middle, above my kitchen window.

          Mike measured, put the screws in, hung them. They hung down on the window trim and I hated it. I didn’t want to say anything. I’ll move ‘em later.

“These next two, just hang one above the other,” I directed.

“Where?”

“Here.” I handed him one. “Hold it up and I’ll tell you when.”

Mike held it up.

“Yep. Right there.”

He handed the picture back to me, took the screw and screw gun and put it in the wall. I handed him the picture and he hung it up. From here on out, it went pretty good as we eyeballed stuff.

“I don’t like the first three,” I told him. “I think they should be up a little higher, off the window frame. I can do it later if you don’t wanna do it.” Getting up and down off the ladder is tiring for Mike and his legs will often hurt the next day. But he moved ‘em for me and I’m happier. And that’s what counts, right? It is my patio.

And I think of Linda when I look at them.

Years ago, going through a re-sale store, I found George and Martha. I love George and Martha! They’re not signed so I don’t know who made them but I loved them since the first time I laid eyes on them. They’ve lived on the breezeway of the old apartment and we moved out of there almost five years ago now.

          “Can we hang them out here?” I asked Mike. Not because I thought he’d say no, but because I was working on his nerves as well, and stretching the limits of his patience.

          “Where are they?”

          “On the front breezeway.”

          “Let’s go get ‘em.” He really does love me.

          Now they have a new home on my kitchen patio. Aren’t they fabulous‽

             Let's call this one done!