Trash Majal

Over the years the Boys have often occasionally never asked my advice on choosing a life partner. I have, however, made a list of things that I would have told them if they had asked, just in case my not-yet-in-existence grandchildren someday ask how I managed to live with Grampsy so long, what with his tendency to appear halfway through a television show and ask me explain the plot line even though I am in the middle of WATCHING the show.

The answer is this: He's a guy who does things right.

And I will offer as evidence the structure pictured in today's post. Not the garage, which was built in 1927 at the same time as the House on the Corner and frankly, will not be included in the itinerary when the HoC is part of the celebrity home bus tour. No, the structure I reference is the trash can holder.

Several weeks ago it suddenly dawned on us (in the sense that this particular sun has been rising for 27 years) that more of our visitors use the back door than the front door. All of these visitors have walked past our trash cans, which had been conveniently located right outside that back door since we moved into the house almost three decades ago. We're come-right-in-into-the-kitchen type of folks and I guess we thought ripening chicken bones gave a special olfactory welcome note. Besides the trash cans, the basement steps were full of old shoes (for lawn mowing purposes) and the whole foyer needed paint.

So we decided to spiffy up that entrance. I cleaned all the junk out of the down-to-the-basement stairs and got ready to paint. Then I ran out of steam and went back to knitting and Netflix.

Husband began to build the new home for the trash cans. And unlike his lazy wife, he did not run out of steam. For three solid weeks he has spent every spare minute either mentally drawing plans, visiting the lumberyard, or fretting over the squareness of the construction. He measured twice and cut once, countersunk the bolts, matched lattices with the precision of a quilter. Every so often he would call on me to hold the end of the chalk line while he snapped a guide rule or to support a board too long to fit on the work bench while it was being cut to length.

Saturday was the grand unveiling, and people, this thing is a masterpiece. Notice the front corner with the beveled insert that covers the raw joint between the side and the end boards? And the eight-inch top railing? This is the Rolls-Royce of trash can holders.

It is also, unfortunately, behind the garage, hidden by a tree, on the side of the house that is away from the public.

You know that old saying about how you can judge someone's character by how he treats people when no one is watching? That, my not-yet-in-existence grandchildren, is why Grampsy is a keeper: He built the Trash Majal behind the garage.