Well, the shed is finished. The landscape is finished for now (I think). What we have done to this lot in the last 30 days is kind of amazing even to us, given the issue of the heat and the lack of the tools of the trade. Bare hands. Sweaty brows. Cactus scratches. Blisters. It's been some tough work, but a labor of love. Never-the-less, we're tired now. Dog tired. And "tired" can make for some funny times and funny lines.
Ever notice the colors of the desert. You might think its primary color is brown, as in dirt. And to someone who has no eye for color, or who just doesn't care to look for color, I suppose that might be true. But actually the desert is a very colorful place, especially now as the colors of Spring venture forth with or without April showers. We've been here five months more or less already and only four maybe five days have we seen with any rain at all, and only one of them would I call a true day of rain. But I digress.
Color. It comes from the spectrum of light. And perhaps no where is the spectrum more spectacular than in the desert when it's flinging its palette on the mountains as the sun first peeks over the hills in the morning, then changes positions in the sky and then dips below the horizon in an all out assault - throwing color to the heavens for all the world to behold. It can be beautiful. It can be unbelievable. It can be tropical. It can be cold. It can be coral. It can be purple.
Purple doors on a shed? Even Marilyn who ventured the idea of this color for the doors went running for the color swatch we had picked out at Home Depot when we first began to brush the doors on the front of the shed. The label on the swatch said, "Vintage Grape." But, hell, it sure looked like purple to me. I was expecting a soft violet, which, though bolder in nature than my usually preferred pristine paint palette of white or neutral buff I still thought would look good with the Caribbean Coral of the other cans of paint that I had picked to be close to Sedona Red Rock Rose. But purple? Well, it's a hundred miles to Home Depot more or less, so purple it was. Besides, things are winding down here out of time and necessity and hundred degree days and so the decision was made....it is what it is!
It grows on you. Isn't that what they say? And so it did. I like it now. Now I think we are bold masters of the use of the desert colors. The red rock rose of the area and the power tint of the morning sky and the purple majesty of the mountains as the sun kisses them good night. Ah, yes, give me color....
The first person to comment called it "colorful." The second person to comment acknowledged that, "it doesn't offend me." What seemed like it could go down hill rapidly, though, turned around quickly as the colors began to "work" with the surroundings and then "grew" on everyone else watching the process as well. Now we love it. A lot. I think. I'm pretty sure. The owners of the campground like it a lot- the whole lot, a whole lot. The managers of the park stop by regularly to express their delight at the process and prospect. The maintenance crew has all been great, lending a helping hand when they are able. Some of the neighbors have begun new gardens and one guy has a new shed too and is thinking about painting the door red. Neato! And absolutely no one has said they don't care for it (even if that is the case, which we hope it isn't).
So yesterday, as we sat in the late afternoon shade of the shed, feet propped up, sucking down yet another big glass of ice water to try to rehydrate, we felt a sense of accomplishment. We looked for....and saw, all the colors of the shed as the sun bade us all farewell. It felt good. Tired can feel good when the work is all done and the results are good too.
But my nose was running. I took the clean white handkerchief from my pocket and.... I blew. Working hard and riding in the desert in this environment where dust is the major component of every breath you take has one very negative side effect: dirty boogers. I couldn't help observing the dirty little boogers as I "checked the contents" before putting the hankerchief back in my pocket for the next time it might be needed. It was nasty, but nothing new....and all you riders of the dust devils know where-of I am speaking, admit it or not. But while I had blown my nose to eliminate the "nastys" before, you know - those semi detached morsels that sort of race up and down your nostril without deciding which way they really intend to travel- it all of a sudden dawned on me, in all my kicked back tiredness and perhaps bordering on the verge of giddiness, that since we have been here, I have not seen my bride blow her nose even a single time....
"Man, these are some dirty boogers," says I.
"Absolutely", says she.
Then, for whatever reason, I had the urge to question: "So, have you had dirty boogers out here too?"
"Sure."
"Well, I've never seen you use a hanky or go a pickin and a grinin..."
"Of course not,", she said without blinking an eye.
And then my always adorable, and usually but not always proper, wife got up out of her chair and started walking toward the coach to start dinner. And as she walked away, and without turning around to get a reaction, she said to me,
"I've been saving mine up to coat your chicken; it's gonna be extra crispy tonight...."
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