By Maryanna Gabriel
Slowly, I have been collecting pieces of slate. With a promising start to the week, I decided I would tackle covering the ugly brick at the base of the green house, ignoring the dread in the pit of my stomach. Starting a job one isn't certain of, is always hardest. Once one gets going, I've discovered, it usually works out.
Reading the directions to the mortar mix, I stirred. Oh no. Wayyyy too much water. Half the bag went in to thicken the gray soup. Working quickly before it hardened, the problem became the slate not adhering. Heavier pieces on top caused the lower section to collapse. With a sense of urgency, I bent myself into Houdini positions reworking the stone puzzle. Almost there. With no time to stop for lunch, my new arrangements refused to cooperate. A sharp pain was a warning. Almost finished - just a little more mortar. By midafternoon, standing upright was a shock. The stone work held and, gosh, it looked beautiful. I crawled into the house. Had the pain been worth it?
A trip to town was in order.
"Do you think you could take it easy for a bit?" My chiropractor was attempting reason. Diplomacy with her clients is her strong point.
I love this woman. I swear, without her I would be dead. My reply was a muffled, "Might try the next wall a year from now." She adjusted the offending vertebrae.
"Good. And use ice."
On the happier side, the rockery has held. It looks like it has always been there.
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| oh beautious wall... |