swing fling in the spring
The stage was set (as well as being cleared of moss and windstorm debris). Bright light flooded the scene from above, casting dramatic shadows in the wings. The sound designer toyed with the latest foley effects: the subdued and rapid hammering of a woodpecker, a crowing rooster in the distance, a dog who answered back, and the varied chirps, trills, and whistles of local songbirds. One by one, the audience shuffled in and claimed their seats. The actors assumed their places. After weeks of anticipation, it was time for the production to begin.
Production line, that is.
While children everywhere searched high and low for hidden eggs on Easter Sunday, we sought something a little less tangible--a way to transform the nebulous into the comprehensible, which, with only line illustrations to guide us, is vaguely akin to hatching a live pinky bunny from a chicken egg. "Which screw is Q, and how does it pertain to part F?" "If that illustrated piece looks like a duck, but doesn't walk like a duck, or talk like a duck, can we confidently rule out any relation to a duck?" "What is it about section I that has attendees rushing the stage?" (We'll circle back to that plot twist in good time--certainly better time than we achieved deciphering step number four.)
April the fifth was an uncommonly agreeable early spring day here in Northwest Washington and the first opportunity we'd had to build our long-awaited convertible patio swing. It can be used as it is shown, partially reclined, or folded out flat to make a daybed, a configuration I hope will entice Maisie to join me there on a lazy summer morn. Even the canopy angle is adjustable up to 60° either direction to shield us from the sun. While--much like the cheese in The Farmer in the Dell--the swing currently stands alone, this cute, canopied contraption will eventually be the central point of a beautifully landscaped setting, featuring flower gardens to either side, a custom bird-feeding station and birdbath, and plenty of color to attract bees, butterflies, and our many avian friends. I can hardly wait to see it completed, but it'll likely be years in the making. The stone pavers, the swing itself, these were the first steps to a much grander project.
The assembly took most of the afternoon, not because it was especially difficult but because the small, text-free illustrations were occasionally so busy with overlapping lines that they proved challenging to discern for a woman in dire need of a stronger eyeglass prescription. Also, in addition to a couple of breaks in the shade to escape an increasingly hot sun, there were unscripted moments of audience participation that pulled us away from our task. Comic relief is an essential component of any good production. Maisie, Miss Malcolm, and Mr. Mooney provided ours.
Before we'd begun building, we'd taken stock of the parts to make sure nothing was missing. As I'd pulled the pieces from the box, I'd placed them, one by one, on a blanket spread over the lawn, arranging them in order according to their coded stickers, with the exception of section I--the convertible seat and back support--which I laid out along the blanket's edge. Maisie approached. She stepped onto the lake-blue fabric and smiled. Worried she'd tear it with her sharp toenails, I attempted to coax her away. She plopped down onto her belly, lifted her eyes to mine, and grinned even bigger, an air of satisfaction that she'd acquired a brand new outdoor bed. She looked so pleased with herself, so preciously contented, we didn't have the heart to move her. Once our beloved pup wandered away of her own volition, Dennie moved that piece back into its original box, which was splayed open on the deck. Within seconds, section I was occupied once more, this time claimed by the feral queen herself, Miss Malcolm. The tiny cat sprawled herself over the blue like she owned the place, indulged herself in a long, luxurious bath, and stepped off the fabric and out of the box only when the mood inspired her--that and the approaching dog.
As a side note, though Maisie and Miss Malcolm are well acquainted, we made an interesting discovery during this particular interaction: cats neither understand the objective of, nor do they harbor an appreciation for, a lively game of tag. Dogs, however, find the sport infinitely hilarious. No one was hurt; Miss Malcolm continues to trust her favorite dog; and, while we're still looking into it, we believe it's possible that one small feral cat may have broken some kind of land-speed record.
Eventually, the audience-induced intermission ended, and Dennie and I resumed our endeavor. We'd been waiting years to put a swing out there. With each new piece secured, the anticipation grew, until, finally, we lowered ourselves onto the cushioned seat and relished the smooth, gentle sway of a scene well played. All that was left was the encore. The swing came with two bolster rolls and two square pillows that match the cushion upholstery, but the latter two we didn't even open. For an eye-pleasing contrast, we added our own chosen throw pillows instead and--though very temporarily--the adorable floral Peeps bunny toy we were about to gift to Maisie.
Dennie and I were sore, overheated, hungry, and exhausted, but we weren't returning to the house until our little girl met her marshmallow match. For a while we just sat and watched her play, watched her nap, tried not to nap ourselves. One of us succeeded on the latter, though only barely. During this late-day downtime, I snapped pictures of Maisie, of Dennie, of both feral cats here, there, and practicing their Cirque du Soleil routine in the rafters. I shot other photos of budding trees, and, of course, the main attraction--the swing. The cushions had been vacuum-packed and hadn't fully regained their shape yet, leaving them looking a bit squashed and wrinkled, but I photographed them anyway, as another sunny day with that kind of free time on my hands was not a guarantee. Also, as I mentioned, we were sore, overheated, hungry, and exhausted. Waiting for cushions to spring into shape was an option we may have entertained a few hours earlier, but not by then. On this production, it was time to take our final bow and let the curtains close. Aside from the dinner that awaited us, the day was done, but what a glorious day it had been, one passed in the spring, with a swing, and my everyday everything--my absolute favorite peeps.