What a Brick!

"Brick brik, n baked clay; a shaped block of baked clay, generally rectangular . . . ; a helpful, supportive, kind person (colloq)."

Yesterday, I saw my across-the-alley, in-the-process-of-becoming-former neighbor sitting in a plastic lawn chair at the head of his alley driveway.

"You're probably wondering why I'm sitting here like this. My car's been inspected, and I'm waiting for it to be brought back. They always miss the house, so here I am!"

We got to talking, and I admitted to my dumpster-driving foray of a week ago. He didn't mind, but "How did you ever get that picnic bench out?!" And offered me a look at his remaining theology books, in case I wanted any of them.

Pretty soon, the driver from the garage came with the car, and my neighbor got in-- I guess to drive around to the front. But before they did, I screwed up my nerve and asked, "Do you have any plans for that pile of bricks there? I could really use some to line my garden beds."

"Oh, a guy came by the other day and offered to buy some off me."

"Well, if there's any left over after he gets his, let me know how much you want for them."

"Oh, just come take them! You can have as many as you want!"

Wow, what a brick!

Couldn't do the job yesterday, but today I got my lawn cart over and from noon to about 4:30 PM I hauled bricks. And stacked bricks. And hauled bricks. And stacked bricks. And hauled bricks. And stacked bricks. And hauled bricks. And stacked bricks. And hauled bricks. And stacked bricks. And hauled bricks. And stacked bricks. And hauled bricks. And stacked bricks. . . .

You get the point. I definitely could sympathize with Gary at This Old Crackhouse, and I didn't even have to haul them upstairs to the roof!

I don't know if my neighbor had come to any agreement with the guy who'd offered to pay; if so, that party was out of luck. I cleaned out every brick that was whole and a small pile of those that weren't. And his wife supported my depredations this afternoon: "Oh, just get them out of here."
If I counted right, I hauled and stacked 252 whole bricks, most of which did not have mortar on them. Various colors, which is perfect; varying sizes, so I'll need to sort them to get a straight line on the edge to my long borders. The broken ones I'll figure out how to cut to go round the curves of the crape myrtle bed in the front yard.

As some kind of return, I brought back the little dumpster-dived outdoor table, since I saw it matched two wooden lounge chairs they hadn't chucked. Another neighbor had come by to get them, to pass on to yet another neighbor who just got a house with a yard and needed some furniture to go with it. Hey, let's keep the set together, eh? That particular X-leg table would have looked funny with my Adirondack chairs anyway.

After I finished hauling the bricks I needed (and more or less restacking the ones I didn't), I tried to return the favor by pruning the bushes they'd been stacked under. I found forsythia branches growing in and through the pile, and once or twice, sprouts were rooted in the bricks themselves! However, I may have overpruned one bush, mistaking it for a volunteer elm tree. Then I noticed that the whole shrub had leaves that looked the same as the scraggly branches I lopped out . . . Ouch. Looks a little, um, open on the bottom now.

Oh dear. Do I go pull the forelock and apologize? Or put a brave face on it and say, "Hey, I've opened it up and it'll have nice new growth in the spring?" Or just figure they won't care, since they're practically all moved into their new apartment anyway?

But I've got the bricks I need for at least one long border. And I have a question: What shrub is it anyway, that looks like a dwarf elm tree? And no, I can't recall what kind of or if it had any flowers last spring!

But I'm losing my neighbor. Who is a brick.

Modern Euphemisms: Recycling

Inspired by Elaine at Bless This DIY Mess, I decided to do a little dumpster diving-- ahem! I mean, recycling of my own first thing this morning.

Funny that I hadn't thought of it before. The elderly couple across the alley is moving out to a smaller home, with the intermittent help of various family members. For the past week they've had a full-sized dumpster out back of their house, being filled with all sorts of things. My eyes rolled over it every time I took the dog out to do his business, but I never bothered to investigate.

But this morning I went across to have a closer look-see.

Hmmm, what have we here? Two perfectly good picnic benches. I'd noticed them poking out before, but assumed they were both broken. But no. Just unwanted.

Me, I don't need two picnic benches. Not without a picnic table, anyway. At any rate, one of them was buried too deep for me to remove. But the other . . . it looked manageable, and it'd make a good low scaffold for taking down long pieces of doorway trim for stripping.

The bench was tilted up with one end above the rim of the dumpster and the other submerged in and under a lot of other stuff: Miscellaneous loose and outdated books on junior college subjects of no interest to me. A big black trash bag, torn, full of toiletries about to spill out. A funny oak chair missing a back slat. A small wooden outdoor table painted the same color as the picnic benches. A big piece of scabby plywood over on top of it all. I lifted the plywood, shifted the books, scootched the chair, managed to roll the bag of toiletries over without dumping it on the ground, and pulled out the little table and claimed it as my first prize. Then with an effort of shifting, pushing, and pulling, I finally got the picnic bench up and out and down on the ground.

I don't know what the rules are around here on dumpster-diving, but I felt a little sneaky as I picked up the bench and got it inside my fence and into the house.

However unsettled I felt, it didn't keep me from going back across the alley this afternoon and pulling out that funny oak chair, missing slat and all. The legs and seat are basically solid and I've decided it'll look cute on my back porch.

It's a church chair, as I realized when I saw the hymnbook rack on its back, and the dowel shelf underneath. Appropriate, since its now-former owner is a retired Methodist minister. Well, it's gone over to the Presbyterians now-- it must have been predestined!

At any rate, isn't recycling a modern virtue?

The Kitchen Faucet Chronicle, Part 2

My friend Steve* came over this morning, children Stevie* and Letitia* in tow, to finish installing my kitchen faucet.

The supply lines he got at Lowe's yesterday fit fine. Unfortunately, the ferrules that came with them were too long.

The three of them departed to see a cartoon movie at the mall, and I went out and pulled weeds in my garden to console myself-- sob!-- for having to bear another two hours of no water supply in the kitchen.

Back they came sometime after noon, the kids bearing crumbly snacks and news about the movie (The Pebble and the Penguin) and Steve with the right-length ferrules.

And hurray! My new faucet is installed and working!

Steve* told me, "There's a little water down here. I didn't have it tightened enough at first, and it sprayed a little."

Right, right, whatever. I'm sure it's good now.

So, after we raided my garden for lettuce and celery for them to take home, I saw the family off and went to enjoy my new faucet. Ran the water and experimented with the spray feature and oh, boy, it actually works!

But it was still grotty in the cabinet underneath. Took an old towel to wipe it out.

Oh my gosh, this is sopping! Do I have a leak? And there's drips running down the lines, too! Should I phone Steve* and ask him to come back?

Steady on, Kate. Easiest solutions first. He did say it'd sprayed some, right?

Right. Wiped up the water on the cabinet bottom, wiped off all the hoses and lines. Turned on the water. No drips, no leaks. Huzzah!

But no way I could just put my soap and cleaners and sponges and all back in. The cabinet bottom would have to be painted first.

Dilemma: Down the basement, I had white latex paint, but couldn't find the latex primer. I had oil-based primer, but no oil-based paint. Something would have to be purchased, regardless. Decided with the ever-present chance of moisture, I'd go for oil-based.

And I'd do it tonight. Off on an emergency run to Lowe's! Where I bought the very last quart can of semi-gloss oil-based paint! (Apparently the Pennsylvania EPA's banning the sale of it after the end of this year.) And a quart can of latex primer, just-in-case!

Home again, I open the can of oil-based primer. It was left by my Previous Owners. Or maybe by their Previous Owners.

Can this primer be saved?

I think not.

Oh, well. I've decided the paint needs tinted to match the cabinet fronts anyway. I'll take off a door and bring it in to Lowe's with the paint tomorrow.

Besides, I have to return the can of latex primer. I found mine. Almost full. Under my nose. Right on my workbench.

Does Lowe's have some sort of cabinet thingy where I can safely store my brain?