Every winter, when the darkness and the cold and the inability to at least take a walk in the garden get to me, I promise myself to learn how to make hypertufa planters and bird baths. Every spring and summer I look at the list of materials, the time constraints, the mess involved, and say to myself, 'no way!'. Admiring from afar the nifty troughs and statuary, the lovely leaf-shaped bird baths and fountains, this failed sculptress sighs and looks the other way. And then... the Methodist church down the road had its world-renowned rummage sale! Denise Boal, an old hand at this kind of rumble, outlined the plan of attack for me, a mere neophyte, and in we went, plodding through the crowds. Dodging sharp elbows we waded through the maelstrom of old stuff, new stuff, the good, the bad, the ugly. We saw, we chose, we grabbed, we conquered. Voilá la piéce de resistance: A birdbath just as I always dreamt I'd make myself someday! No schlepping of materials, no mucking up, no fuss, no disappointing results. Life is good when your dreams come true with a pricetag of fifty cents.
No comments:
Post a Comment