Done and Done

 "I brake for yard sales" was a bumper sticker I had threatened for years to buy for Steve.  Since they were not my thing, I paid my dues by standing by patiently as he went through boxes and bags of this and that all over the valley and hills.  Countless times we'd be driving along when he'd suddenly pull off the road because he'd seen one of those signs.  He was an inveterate sale-er and he'd be so proud of me.

The board fence in the front yard had seen better days and was falling into disrepair.  I had passed these iron bedsteads in a garden at a place on Bucks Bar Road for years and thought they were pretty.  When the gal who lived there put stuff on sale, I broke down and stopped in.  She made me an offer I couldn't refuse.

Don't ask me why, but there were bundles of pipe in the barn (probably from some yard sale he'd gone to) and with my handy-dandy pipe cutter, I was able to get usable lengths that the bed frames slipped right over.  Camille had returned the sledge hammer she'd borrowed (no "cup-of-sugar, please," borrowing up here!) so I could pound the pipes into the ground for support.

Bessie Anne and Pearl, my ever-present supervisors, were on the job as I eyeballed the fence line.  They agreed I was close enough for horseshoes and hand grenades, and we called it good.  It was quite satisfying to sit on the porch later with a good breeze blowing, a sundowner drink in my hand, listening to a band at one of the wineries sing Carly Simon cover songs, and look at my completed project.

It was a good day.