Yesterday my husband helped me haul two folding tables out to the side lawn. I set one up in the hot sun and put a part of a stained glass window on it to warm, covered in a dark blanket. As the lead heated and softened, I added gradual weight to start flattening it out. The other table I set up under a shady maple tree, in the cool, and worked on the next piece of window, freeing it from its wooden frame with hammer and chisel. Hubby even brought the vacuum out for me, on an extension cord, so I could be tidy about it. And he brought me a Fresca, which is the best pop on the planet.
Brio curled up at my feet in contentment and dozed. Neighbours came out into their yards to work on their own projects -- gardening, potting flowers, painting fences. One woman was using a blowtorch to darken the wood for what looked like raised garden beds she's building. Friendly nods of acknowledgement, but each engrossed in her own thing. A local dog came over to check out what was on the table -- no food -- and wandered off again. I worked out there for a few hours, and it was absolutely lovely. The only reason I stopped was because the light was fading and the mosquitoes were coming out.
I wish I could spend every day like this.
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