The Sewing Shed is Progressing

I don’t like to think I’m slipping.

While I’ll readily admit I’m not as strong or fast as I once was, I can still accomplish most tasks without looking like an old man.

Or so I think.

The backyard building project — Barb’s sewing shed — is coming along fine, despite a few setbacks. I had apparently forgotten how to do some things, at least correctly, but consoled myself with the old builder’s axiom “good enough for who it’s for.”

Like sausage, the shed will be great when it’s finished but you don’t want to watch it being made.

Most of my mistakes I keep to myself. Others are harder to hide especially when the police are involved. Arriving at the lumberyard a couple of days ago to pick up a door, I noticed the tailgate was down on the truck. No big deal except my toolbox was gone. After picking up windows earlier that morning I’d left it down and somewhere between there and the house it had escaped.

Backtracking my route turned up nothing. Then I spotted a cop who had pulled someone over. He was just starting to drive away when I stopped behind him and honked. Cops like that.

A nice young man, he tolerated the toot, listened to my sad tale, and said his sergeant had picked it up. I followed him down to the station. After a scolding from the sergeant about not securing my load, the young officer and I picked up the box and put it back in the truck. I thanked them, shut the tailgate, and left.

“That was embarrassing,” I told Barb as we were driving away.

She just gave me a look.

At least the building was going well. Barb told me it even had a Frank Lloyd-Wright vibe.

A few days later during a trip to Bozeman we happened to drive by the home her father had built more than 50 years ago along the frontage road just outside of town. I hadn’t realized until then the similarities between that house and the shed I designed.

It was an awakening. Instead of channeling Frank Lloyd-Wright I was channeling Harry Johnson, a fine builder in his own right until old age, rum, and memory loss reduced him to making pet coffins in his final days.

The shed’s not yet done, but it is enclosed allowing me to take some time off to go hunting. When I get back to the job I’ll …

I’m not sure where I was going with that.

It must be time for a rum and Coke.

Parker Heinlein is at [email protected]