My husband is an interesting guy. An architect by day, a daredevil by weekend, he gives me a lot to write about. Even though he’s a six foot five stubborn Italian, he has an artsy side that intrigues me. Usually.
Well, we have a big shop behind our house where he has his toys. That’s cool. And he somehow became inspired to kind of decorate around it with some pretty neat stuff he found. So when the old gas pump showed up by the door, I thought, wow, that’s cool. Then when the odd mining or cement testing or whatever the thing is showed up on the other side of the shop, I was pleased.
Then the signs showed up. A wagon wheel, a number 9 with really no significance. Okay. I can live with those. Though, we do have new neighbors moving in on the other side of the shop and now I’m wondering what they think. So far, they probably think we’re artsy. That’s ok.
Then the big windmill thingy was placed between my rose bushes. At this point, I’m starting to wonder. Keep in mind that we live in a nice, normal neighborhood. No junkyard dogs, no rotted out car parts lining the drive. You know, nice. All of a sudden, the sound of that song from Deliverance started going through my head.
Then this thing that looks like a massive temperature guage appears between my two favorite rosebushes. I think this thing actually had something to do with measuring the temperature of concrete, but I sure wouldn’t bet my life on it. I begin to get uneasy at this point.
Then…the bathtub appears. Oh heck no. (I try not to swear on my blog, but you can guess what I really said. And for the record, it didn’t start with an ‘h.’) Also, for those of you creative gardening types, I know there was a trend of putting flowers in a bathtub in your yard a few years back. I am not a trendy gardening type. I do not want a freakin bathtub in my yard by my roses. I do not.
This is the year of the bathtub debate…and I will not lose. That thing is leaving.