Out on the porch

Have you ever had that dream where you're wandering through your house, or another place that you're perfectly familiar with, and you open a door and find a totally unfamiliar room?

That happened to me this week.

Pictured here is my front porch.  I don't have a "before" picture, mostly because it was never photo-worthy before (it still isn't, all that much) and because when I started cleaning it off, I didn't know I was going to go far enough to require a "before" picture.

I decided, after 14  years, to get rid of the two wooden chairs with the uncomfortable metal strap seats that I had never made cushions for -- if I haven't made the cushions by now, it's not likely to happen.

I got rid of the trashpicked table that was too unsteady to use, and that I had never fixed.

I put the two extra recycle tubs to use holding the straw bale that lives on the porch.  It would live in the back yard, but there's no coverage back there.

I brought up two comfortable chairs from the basement, and my old wooden coffee table.

And I brought out a glass of iced tea and sat down, sweating, to enjoy a totally new view of my street.  Since I haven't pruned the roses lately, I have a very nice privacy screen going as well.

All was well until I took my chairs to the thrift store down the block and was talking to one of the employees.  He kept turning away and laughing, and I finally asked what was wrong.  He told me to go home and look in the mirror.  Cleaning + sweating = dirt mustache.  Think Marlboro man and you're not far off.

On the other hand, I love getting really dirty, because I enjoy the shower so much afterward.  It's like letting your house -- or your porch -- get really messy because you know you'll be able to see the difference once you're done cleaning.