Concrete Progress

Our back porch had a set of wooden steps down to ground level, but they were not ideal.  They would not hold paint, and were too narrow for comfort, so I knew I would replace them someday.


Then I had a vision - the new steps would be concrete, with pedestals on either side to hold a pair of yard sale concrete lions Lee Ann he picked up some years ago.  The lions were stuck behind the carriage barn doing next to nothing, and by placing them at the back steps I could echo the look we have at the front entrance, which has rather grand lions on either side of the stoop.


Inspired by this vision and with a long holiday weekend at my disposal, I tore off the old steps, dug out some dirt, laid gravel, built forms, and mixed and poured 29 bags of concrete.  It was hard work (they don't call it Labor Day for nothing!) but the resulting steps are just what I hoped for.

My Happy Birthday

Yesterday Annie came home for a few hours, and Lee Ann made a lasagna and a lemon meringue pie.  In addition to the good meal I got some nice gifts, and one remarkable gift.  Here is the text of a letter Annie wrote for me:

Happy Birthday Papa!

(...and Happy Valentine's Day while I am at it)

I can't wait to see what poor taste humorous birthday card Grandpa sent you; what a joker.  I'm sitting in the campus Starbucks trying to figure out what people write in letters.  It really is a lost art form, I think.  But I'm reminded of how you and mom used to make me write to my relatives, updates on a life that was nothing compared to the whirlwind I'm living now.  I remember perching over your shoulder fascinated with paying bills and balancing checkbooks.  And I remember that you had to learn to write in lower case because I was writing in all caps at school.  You had me writing essays and working around the house long before school ever became difficult.  Damned if you and mom weren't going to have an educated and hard-working kid!  I used to think you were preparing me for the inevitable ladder of high school to college to work to grave.  I became anxious that my head had been filled with dream jobs by people who didn't seem to particularly like their own jobs.  I was afraid that I was going to be miserable.  But I've started to see that you work for your family.  You work for Saturday morning brush runs, and sleepy Sunday mornings with the newspaper comic strips.  You work for Bed and Breakfast family vacations, and evenings laughing over the Scrabble board.  I've realized that you work for comfort, and family, and love.  And I hope that one day I can have a dream job like you do.

I love you.

Annie