Containment

Date night, Saturday. Bob took me to our neighborhood home improvement store to look at sheds, romantic devil. (Honestly, doing anything with my babe of a husband makes me happy: Take a load to the dump? Great! Get an oil change on the van? I'd love to. We need paper towels from COSTCO? Be still my heart, date and dinner. . . cha-ching!) A row of sturdy yard sheds lines the front of Lowe's, doors nailed open for love-struck-couples-on-dates to easily check out the built-in shelving and marvel at the solid wood construction. Who ever dreamed how many shed choices are out there? Daunting.

 The one I mentally refer to as "Big Red" stands about ten feet tall and looks like something a tornado lifted up in Kansas and dropped in one piece on the sidewalk in front of Lowe's. No lie--a scaled down red-barn affair that you could park a tractor in, or a couple of milk cows. Not really practical for our suburban backyard. I pick up the brochure on the back wall of the "Heartland Ranier" model. More options. How about the "CedarShed Ranchland"? It looks like it's made of Lincoln Logs and sports a window with a flower box (oh goodie, more blooms to plant and let die.) No. Too Little House on the Prairie. The "CedarShed Clubhouse" has three windows and a covered porch. Come on. It's a SHED! You know--home to the weed whacker and forty pound bags of potting soil and sundry spiders. Seriously, someone put more thought into designing these tool huts than I have put into decorating the interior of my entire home. 

And the winner is . . . (obviously
not my yard--too many living things)

Then Bob takes my hand and leads me into "The Stratford." I can tell by the gleam in his eye that this shed speaks to him. He hasn't looked this excited since he bought that contractor-grade wheelbarrow he longed for (the one that is roughly the same size as my friend's MINI Cooper . . . what did you think necessitated the purchase of a shed?) I call this model "Kentucky Morning"--grey with white trim, double doors opening at the front and a cute little window with shutters and yes, a flower box.  It looks like Mr. Ed's gentle head should be hanging out the top of the door, waiting for a bag of oats or a decent discussion of the morning news. "This is the one for us," Bob states with confidence. He sinks into a Ralphie-esque reverie. Visions of tidy pegboards and neatly hung shovels and shelved croquet sets dance in his head. We have a winner.

Obviously not my shed, but
I can dream, can't I?

Eight by twelve feet of empty space means different things to different people. To me it means the possibility of someday parking an actual vehicle in my garage. What a concept. To Bob it represents the hope of  gaining mastery over the yard, showing it once and for all who's boss. It holds out the dream of taming the work bench sufficiently that finding the tools won't take longer than completing the project itself. Yes, hope springs eternal and sometimes you can buy it on a late Saturday night date at Lowe's.