Ode to Summer with decking
Sunday, June 8, 2008

It’s here. Summer vacation. Started late Friday afternoon, the last day of school. A whole day of it has already come and gone. Oh, no. Panic.

Ah, summer. I enjoy tidying up my classroom on the last day of school because it’s so easy. Everything goes in the trash. Every paper on my desk has expired. No more sorting for announcements of future events. Abandoned student papers become, quoth the raven, “nevermore.” If my garbage can were wider, I could clean my desk with one firm sweep of my right arm.

Ah, summer, you wily rascal, full of potential adventures and new found friendships, campgrounds and vistas, swim suits and sandals, open highways and back country roads, sleepy villages and vegetable festivals. Oh, how you beckon.

First, I’ll be tearing out my backyard deck. The orange one. Not because it’s orange, though that thought crossed my mind. It’s because it’s structurally defective. We’ve been living with it for 30 years. It was built by the previous guy using guesswork. Joists are too far apart. The nails bounce loose. Planks are too far apart. Moisture collects between the planks and the joists, which are not pressure treated. The joists have rotten spots in key locations – anywhere.

I’ve been sanding it, staining it, reinforcing it, replacing a plank from time to time, putting lipstick on the pig, but I have never resorted to tearing the whole thing out and starting over. That would be a radical move. It’s a long deck.

Last week Gino offered to help me put a quick shade roof over part of it. I wanted a place out of the sun and rain where I could relax, read, and sip my lemonade. I wanted to buy patio chairs with cushions for the first time, and sit in them. “It will only take a few days,” he assured me. “We can have it up before school is out.”

Gino instructed me to pull up six planks so we could dig footings. That’s when he got his first look ever at the underbelly of our beloved deck.

“Oh, my God,” he said. “This is a mess. It can’t be salvaged. You can’t build a roof over a rotten, poorly made deck. It wouldn’t be worth it. It’s all got to come out.”

That was that. I got my marching orders. I came home each evening last week and pried up a few more of the 46 remaining boards. Whenever we work together, I’m always on demolition duty. I tear down the old, and he builds up the new. I have about 10 planks to go before Gino plugs in. I’d be out in my backyard right now if I didn’t have typing to do.

Ah, summer. You have not warmed up to me yet. Literally. I hope to work swiftly at this orange Magoo and be free to roam before the cool breezes from the melting polar ice caps die down and I may once again swim without horripilation.

Ah, summer. In the dog days, Barack shall battle McCain in the heavyweight championship of the free world. As Barack wins more and more rounds, speculators will sell their war stocks and buy peace stocks. Trillions will be lost by the military industrial complex. Powerful enemies will be made. Trillions will be gained by innovative, environmentally friendly companies and employed American workers. They will grow stronger. America will be respected in the world once again. New friends and well threaded coalitions will form. We will enter a new age of peace and prosperity. Then it will all come crashing down again when the dream dies.

Ah, summer. I yearn to wear shirts I do not have to iron. I long for short pants with extra pockets for sun block and flashlights. I yearn for slip-on shoes that I can get wet. I’m eager to retire my socks for the season. I long to don hats with floppy, wrap-around visors and chin straps. I want to put dry pants over a wet swimsuit and chafe. I welcome my increased need for ice. I always feel good when I’m at the store buying ice. It usually means someone is having a party.

Ah, summer. You bring tomatoes, zucchini and snap beans in your bountiful bosom. Backyard gardens all around California will be bursting with home-grown sustenance. We will be able to augment our dinner tables with our own fruits and vegetables. We will swing toward greater self-sufficiency in this difficult economy.

We need only buy the planting soil, seeds and sprouts, fertilizer, water, garden hoses, nozzles, timers, drip hose, insect deterrents, stakes, netting, fencing, bed boards, screws, stakes, shovels, hoes, rototillers, and marigolds.

Ah, summer. You hold potential for rest and vigor, calm and commotion, peace and quiet, hoots and gaiety. I hope to crawl deep into the folds and recesses of your novelty and lose myself for a spell in your embrace.