One of my main goals for the spring was to stain the playset. We tried it last year, waiting for the day that, as specified, was not too hot and not too cold. The day that did not have rain preceding or forecasted as following it. Then painted away. What we neglected were the automated sprinklers that came on at night, eroding all our hard work.
But this year, spring moved on, and still the playset sat, peeling, chipping, and otherwise looking forlorn and neglected. To me, and I am sure to all of you, it embodied idealism. You know, idealism- that bright and sunny outlook that paints perfect pictures of the future. The idealism that told me when my garage was still heavy with the scent of fresh redwood from the days the playset habitated it while waiting to be assembled, that it would always look that beautiful, smell that invigorating.
But as it always seems to, idealism chips and cracks and peels away, eventually giving way to realism. Realism is not such a terrible thing to be left with. But I am still trying to discover if it is a fault or a strength of mine that never fails to start with idealism, and honestly fall for it, hook line and sinker, until I have to be shaken and thrown down off my tower into what actually IS.
Enough philosophizing, down to work. Namely, down to their work, my children, toiling away. It did get done, and I think had fun, which was, shall we say, ideal?
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