Hysterical displacement activities.

At this moment, I am unable to get into the house to start (and subsequently become frustrated with) my construction projects. Instead I have to drum up vaguely-related projects to fill the time constructively (ha ha! Constructive construction projects. Clearly didn't study English in school.) My only other option would have been drinking myself into a stupor to waylay the anxiety.

To pass the time, I have refinished my parent's old set of patio furniture, rebuilt a little hexagonal table that I found in the trash about a year ago, and gone on a serious garage sale-ing trip. Actually, the garage-sale gods have been good to me, providing me with a charming wheelbarrow ($3), a shovel ($4), a doorknob and cute little outdoor light fixture (combined $1), a laser level ($2 but only because I felt kind of sorry for the family selling it so didn't argue), and a fold-up wire shelf for plants etc... ($4). Also two lovely baby sago palms ($0.50) and a spade ($0.50). Grand total $15!! Not to mention the giant brandy snifter that mom found to replace the one she broke (then cunningly fixed with duct tape - no one would ever notice!) and the two necklaces that Marg bought and broke within the span of two hours. Of course there is the minor detail of the $9.99 for minwax (to protect shovel and wheelbarrow handles), the $4.99 package of batteries for the laser level, the $7.99 for spray rust-oleum paint for the light and the yet-to-be-determined price of replacement screw thingies to hold the globe in the light fixture. Huh.

In any case, I'm feeling quite smug about the rebuilding of the little hexagonal table. It was a little loose and wobbly-jointed, so I not only re-glued everything, I also fashioned little braces for the part where the legs join to the top. Truth be told, they are braces of a silly size for the table but what they lack in grace, they more than make-up for in enthusiasm. I'm relatively sure I could now run over the table with little to no appreciable damage. Clearly, a rebuilder of fine furnishings I am not, but I'll be damned if my table will be susceptible to anything less than nuclear detonation. For reference, see picture.