the ocean

This week our we had our entire garage deck removed and rebuilt. As of last Saturday, we genuinely did not even know this was going to happen. We had the project scheduled for early August. But our contractor had an opening and emailed us and next thing we knew, a couple of truckloads worth of rotting lumber and dying plants were being ripped out of our roof. 

Of course, this was not something we anticipated doing so relatively soon after buying the house, but it turned out that the large built-in planters on the roof were rotting below the surface, causing the entire apparatus to start to collapse in on itself and, perhaps worse, attracting a rather large colony of rats. (And yes, we hired rat hit men, who "took care of" this, but deemed it a problem capable of repetition yet evading review.) So we got all new everything, this time with Trex instead of wood, so allegedly we will have very little upkeep to do.

Given the nightmare stories I've heard about construction in Chicago, I assumed our contractor would disappear after ripping everything out and leave us with a bare roof for several years or until we made extortionate payments, but that did not happen. By Tuesday the lower deck was replaced. By Thursday the upper deck was replaced. And by Friday we had the pergola and the entire project was done. Part of me feels like we've maybe used up our contractor karma and the next one will shoot us in the face or something. But part of me also thinks that would probably we worth it.

Anyway, a successful project, for once. And now it's cloudy and hot, such that I have no desire to be out there. But I COULD be out there, which is a lovely feeling in and of itself.

Ian and I went up to a friend's lake house in Michigan this weekend. We are not what I would consider to be "lake people." I don't ski or wakeboard, unless you count the Nintendo version. Boating is fine with me, but I am just as happy with drinking on solid ground. And swimming in a lake just strikes me as a chance to have some animal I can't see brush up against me. But I have enjoyed an occasional trip to be outdoors (within reason) with friends and maintain the right level of buzz with scientific precision. This weekend was no exception.

The weather was great and the lake was lovely. We brought and quickly downed Mexican Street Corn Cheetos and Crumbl cookies (I can't tell you how much I hate how that is spelled). We enjoyed a pontoon boat and a roaring fire (not at the same time). And we had some fine conversation with friends on everything from getting Teams calls from associates at 10:36 PM on a Tuesday to the general state of Che Diaz. Also, whatever mattress pad they were rocking in the guest room was amazing. I slept like an incredibly good looking baby.

Also, quaintness! There was an old timey roller skating rink that's been in operation for 95 years and a bar that was also a bait shop. Farm stands were everywhere and no one even tried to make me eat kale. Antique stores were plentiful and only some of them seemed racist. Also, we stopped at an old school Applebee's on the way back. I don't think we could be more Real America if we tried.

The Old Town Art Fair is this weekend, which means thousands of people cram into my neighborhood to stroll past tents with art in them and get drunk in the street. After taking a few years off from the fair for COVID/general crankiness, we actually attended this year, which gave us an excuse to repeatedly say "nice weather for it" and "what do you think of that?" We did not linger long at any particular tent, as the fear of having to engage in conversation with strangers is very real to me. Nor did we make any purchases, since we are primarily investing in home repairs and beagle medications at present. But it was, in fact, nice weather for it, and we had a nice time.

I have a bit of a love hate relationship with plants, in that I love them and they hate me. Traditionally, I have struggled to keep them alive. Even the succulent my office gave us as one of many misguided attempts to lure us away from working from home appears unwell, despite the express assurances we were given that they require almost no attention. I did once keep bamboo alive for several years, since it is literally impossible to overwater, but then it got spider mites and some sort of mold and had to be put out of its misery. My grandmother's Christmas cactus has managed to survive, but Ian basically handles that. 

So every year when my mother and I head out to buy plants for the container garden on our front patio, I know it's going to be a mixed bag. We've had some successes, like the lavender that came out of nowhere and flourished for no reason, but also failures like the foxglove that we did not realize was poisonous to dogs. (No one died, but it was an interesting digestive journey.) Also, there are a surprising number of ways to argue over plants. 

But this year I think we got everything in without major incident, and we'll see how they do. I would catalogue for you the various varieties we incorporated, but I have no idea what they are, although they do look nice. I accidentally sprayed potting soil in my face and put on a pretty decent layer of sweat in the process, but frankly that's a better outcome than expected. I just love nature, what can I tell you?