My sister, NJ, is getting ready to start a new adventure in another state.  She is heading north and will be going back to school.  Her furniture, however, is only going halfway and will be stored in a brand new – freshly painted shed in my parents’ backyard.

Phase I:  The Shed

My parents’ have a double car garage that is literally bulging at the seams.  Dad built the garage over forty years ago and he will be the first to admit, he is not a carpenter.  But it has served its purpose and can house not only two vehicles but also almost fifty years of accumulated junk stuff.  In other words, there is no room in the inn.  Hence, the need for a shed directly behind it.

The lot behind the garage is the last section of yard my parents’ have touched.  Through the years the whole yard has gone through various transformations from holding playground equipment to assorted garden attempts and patios.  Everything except for the space directly behind the garage.  It fell victim to the adage, “Out of sight, out of mind,” and slipped into the description of eyesore.  But only to the alley users which would entail four wheel racers, pick-up truck speeders, dogs, and anyone who in my mind is up to questionable endeavors.  I only claim that last part because to me the alley is a stinky place so who would willingly hang out there unless up to no good?

In the last few years, this area behind the garage has become a dumping site.  The bathroom sink ended up there after being replaced by a newer model.  A few other odds-and-ends awaited the trip to the official dump.  It was my parents’ ode to their inner white-trash.  Since it was out of sight of the respectable street users there was no hurry to clean it up.

This summer, we cleaned it.  When I say we, I really mean my brother, RH, and sister-in-law, CC.  My contribution was to play with their grandson while they worked.  A couple of trips to the dump and a weed whacker later, the lot transformed from the hippie black sheep to the clean cut kid ready to work (no offense to any hippies who may read this).

A couple of weeks ago, my dad purchased a wooden shed.  Wooden, I discovered, is code for weekend.  As if in, a weekend project of painting.  RH tried to convince dad to paint it the Wyoming colors: brown and gold.  But dad could not be persuaded and insisted it be painted the same color as the garage.  And house.

I started painting and was very cognizant of the fact it had been just over a month since my family’s last ER visit.  Because of the way the yard slopes, one side of the shed stands pretty tall.  The ladder had to be extended to its full height in order for a short girl like me to paint the top.  Call me paranoid, but I took extra care to make sure I would not end up in the emergency room that night.  When RH arrived, he offered to climb the ladder and finish painting that side and I let him.  Before you judge me, let me explain.  He already went to the emergency room this summer so I figured he was safe.  It was my turn.  On a side note, my family did gather in the emergency room that night but not because of me.

The shed is now painted the same color as the garage.  And house.  It’s like a three bear version of buildings.  Gray momma house, gray papa garage, and gray baby shed in the back.

Phase II:  The Move

With the shed painted it was time for the big move.  My dad was willing to make an extra trip down to pick up the furniture but my sisters and I forbade him to do so.  Really, we don’t have the power to forbid my dad not to do anything he has his mind set on so I take it as a sign of how exhausted he was that he acquiesced.   But it made him nervous to think of NJ driving a U-Haul truck.  The only way we could convince him of not driving the truck was if I drove it.  I, after all, worked at FedEx for five months and have experience driving bigger vehicles.

Once dad agreed to the terms, I didn’t think it prudent to bring up the fact that I actually was on probation while at FedEx.  My only job I have ever been on probation for.  The reason?  Poles kept running into my Sprinter.  The Hazmat sign was completely ripped off after one encounter.

NJ rode with me and before we left town we stopped for gas.  Unsure of how good of gas mileage the U-Haul got NJ filled it up so that we wouldn’t be stranded on the interstate in Nowheresville.  I could see the color drain from her face as she watched the price on the pump escalate.  Before it stopped, I think I could read her thoughts.  She was thinking, “So what if we get stranded on the highway?  At least I’ll still have some money.”

After the truck had a full tank, we pulled onto the road.  The van rocked a bit as we entered traffic.  “We’ve got this!”  I bragged.    The U-Haul company has put a gas mileage meter next to the driver’s seat.  It tells you if you keep it in the green you get better gas mileage.  It became a game for me to try and keep it on one of the thin green lines in between red lines.  Any hills, and there are quite a few in that stretch of the road, and the needle dropped all the way down in the red.  I never really figured that thing out completely.

We also ran into the first rain of the season.  I turned on the windshield wipers which immediately made smears on the window.  So, I’m driving down the road in a U-Haul and couldn’t see a thing.  But other than that it was a pretty uneventful trip.  The good news is we made it.  It took a little longer than usual but it is very hard to speed in a U-Haul.   Of course, I refused to stop anywhere.  We drove straight through because I didn’t want to have to back up at any point.  That’s when those poles are at their most dangerous and tend to jump out at me.  It’s a good thing it was only a three-hour drive because anything longer would have been uncomfortable without stopping.  And trust me, I wouldn’t have stopped.

I am just awaiting my next big adventure now.