I’ve only been awake for about 45 minutes today, and so far I’m not sure which part of my day has been the most fabulous: 1.) The seven phone calls between 7:30 and 10am, 2.) Waking up to a gang full of motorcyclists growling down the street (and then realizing my father was one of them and currently parked on his Harley in my front yard), or 3.) This…
For the last three months I’ve been warning every single person who helps with the patio about accidentally crushing their fingers in between two pieces of flagstone, and how– as my father once succinctly put it– you can’t afford to lose a finger, you’re not even married yet. Yes. The fifty-year-old with his shiny new mid-life-crisis-yellow Harley told me that.
Lucky for him I can’t bend three of my fingers right now to make a proper fist.
Actually, it’s mostly superficial, unless you count the mortal wound to my pride. And what can you do?
On to bigger and brighter things.
My mother and grandmother stopped over to put in a little time on the back yard, and I couldn’t let a little thing like some bloody knuckles get me down. If I haven’t said it before, I am eternally grateful to be surrounded by such awesome women, this is why…
Well what the heck is this? It almost looks like a back yard and not a war zone… But wait. If the flagstone isn’t jumbling up the backyard, then where is it?
*Gasp*
I think the powers that be in the universe felt bad about the bad joke that was my morning, and this is what I got in return:
Would you look at that? It almost looks done.
Make no mistake, it is not done. But for the first time since I started this project I see an end in sight.
JUMP TO THE FINAL CHAPTER of The Pergola Saga: Badass Pergola COMPLETE!
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Aaron
That’s not an injury. That’s just a flesh wound.