Two weeks ago I wrote about our shiny, new wheelchair van. This week I will write about something much simpler and less expensive, but something which will impact our lives similarly. Don't get me wrong. The wheelchair van is wonderful. But we already had one. This van is just newer and has a few more bells and whistles.
When we moved into our house last summer we were excited about the small porch facing the ocean. The gentle breeze coming off the water warms you in the spring and fall, and cools you on uncomfortable summer days. But small is the operative word, and wheelchairs don't deal with small very well. We enjoyed some time on the porch, but not nearly as much as we had hoped we would. We spoke of expanding it one day, and we recently did just that.
The new deck is rather simple and unadorned, but it holds great promise for our emotional well-being. The deck is situated such that, as long as there is some sun in the sky there is a portion that is bathed in sunlight and a portion that is protected by shade. Depending on the ambient temperature, I usually have a clear preference for one portion or the other.
This is different than the decks at our previous houses, though. We had always lived in suburban-type neighborhoods, and our decks were private and afforded us some intimacy with our trees, lawn, and sometimes even woods.
This house, and therefore this deck, is in an urban neighborhood, right in the middle of everything. We're adjusting to the fact that people walking their dogs or neighbors mowing their (tiny) lawns can get a good look at us barbecuing, eating, and lounging. I'm almost used to it already.
Sometimes, whether you have an incurable chronic disease or just a bad day at work, it's the simple things like your own little haven that can provide the most comfort.
All that the deck is lacking is your company. Stop by and join us for a beer, a sip of wine, or a tall, cool glass of lemonade. Bring a dog treat.