There was a break in the weather this morning, allowing last night's snow to melt into mud. Mr S-P took advantage of that little window of acceptable weather (it was cool and overcast, but I was told it was still shorts weather) to finish putting together the shed, or at least get it close enough to done to be weather-tight. He got most of the shell in place, put some scraps up as stop-gap roof decking so the plastic doesn't fall in with this week's snow, and lastly he hung up the door. As soon as the door was secured, he looked at the mismatched exterior and exclaimed, "Boy, that's a whole lot of ugly." We're fairly certain half (or more) of the reason our young neighbor disliked the shed and was enthusiastic about it being torn down and moved to our yard, was that it was such a hideous pink and white color scheme. The guys agreed to hang a sign on it, dubbing it "Tyler's Love Shack," in honor of how much he hated it. I think once it's finished, with new siding painted in a dark raisin color, covered in the vertical herb and lettuce garden I plan to install next spring, it will be transformed. Beautiful, even. Just you wait and see.
I wasn't the only one having a crappy week last week. A family friend lost her job, and then the very next day had to take her fiancee to the emergency room. I've had bad news pile on me like that, and sometimes I've had friends around to provide comfort. In times like that, what you need is someone to come by with food, a hug, acknowledgement that yes, life sucks, and a promise that it won't suck forever. Today I had a chance to give a little of that back, and I when we dropped by with green chile and chocolate (packaged separately), I said exactly those things to her. She seemed to be in a pretty good place, all things considered, but I'm still glad we went by to show her that we're there for her.
And finally, I have solemn news from the family. My mother had to admit it was time to say goodbye to one of her dogs this weekend. When we first moved back to Oklahoma in the winter of 2001, my mother made one of her many dog rescues. We were considering adopting this young, black female dog (no, not Elsa--she came many years later, wandering down the very same road near the Motherpark). Molly (the dog) came down for an introduction when we all gathered at my grandfather's house for that year's Christmas. It did not go well. She did not like Mr S-P or our older daughter at all, which is weird, because most dogs love both of them. In all of the years since, Molly expressed her displeasure every time we came to visit the Motherpark. We never said a bad word to her, but as far as I can tell, she didn't like anyone but my parents in the whole world. She knew who had rescued her, and she was determined to protect them for her entire life. In the last few years, her health declined, but she stuck in there. By this past Friday, she could no longer stand, and my parents agreed that it was time to assist her exit. Today she breathed her last, and my family gave her a beautiful marker in their Park. I can't be sad about it. My parents gave her time and space to be herself, and they recognized when she needed help to say goodbye. Thank you, Molly, for all you did to keep the family safe. No one who heard your scary bark and growl would have ever dared break into that house.
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