I must have spring fever, because I'm dreaming big.
Besides warm weather?
I'm dreaming of a little of this:
Oh, my. Swoon.
Now, I fully realize that this type of landscape would require a move to a different part of the country. Can't do anything about that, but. . .
I can start small. Ish.
I've got a deck out back, and I'm willing to work, man. And it will take work. Lots and lots of it. First up? I need a table for this outdoor dining experience/reverie/musing.
And I want a big table. Big. Ginormous. I want it to fit the whole fam dam,
which is why I put Ana White's Rustic Table on my to-do list.
And I got to work, man. 'Bout $60 worth of lumber, 20 or so cuts with the saw, and massive amounts of screws.
There was a lot of drilling. There was a lot of crouching. There was massive amounts of plumber butt.
And I would like to thank my neighbors for not running over my children when I thought they were right next to me, and instead were doing the crazy dance out in the street.
Mother of the year award. Right here.
This bad boy is 8 feet long, man.
And it truly adds to the ingenious tableau of the garbage can and the lawnmower in the gay-rage. Truly.
I veered from the original plans just a tad by having bigger, sturdier legs, since as the Daddy-o so keenly pointed out:
"You just know your kids are going to be standing on that thing."
So true, Dad. So true.
I opted for a two-toned, walnut stain with white legs.
I love you, table. Many delicious barbeques shall be eaten upon you, I swear it.
And here it stands:
right over the spot of our last murder victim.
I mean, what else is there to do in a gay-rage besides building and manslaughter?