My Parents' Patio Redesign, Part Two

My Mom's Love Language is Acts of Service. My Dad's Love Language is Quality Time. When we decided to re-decorate my parents' patio, we realized that it was a way to show them love through both of their Love Languages.

We started by cleaning all of the wooden patio furniture. I used a bleach/water solution in a spray bottle. Fortunately, the weather had done a good job of smoothing all the edges, leaving the surfaces soft and porous enough for painting.

My Mom said she liked these cushions on a random shopping trip, so I went back and bought them:

And we used these cushions as the basis of our color scheme. We wanted something bright and lively, that would also incorporate my parents' favorite colors: red for my Mom, yellow for my Dad (and blue for me, just because).

(Painted with the blood of our enemies)

After painting these chairs, it proceeded to rain every day for three weeks. Oh yeah, welcome back to Texas, where the weather does whatever the heck it pleases.

To see the next step on our patio re-do, click here. 

2015 Poem A Day, Day Twenty Four

Prompt for Day Twenty Four:

For today’s prompt, write a moment poem. The moment can be a big moment or small moment; it can be a good moment or horrible moment; it can affect thousands or matter to just one person. Some moments happen in crowded rooms; some happen in the most quiet of spaces. Find yours and write a poem.

The road leading to my Aunt's house was, until very recently, quite rural. We used to live across the street from her in what is still my favorite house ever. Surrounded by pastureland on three sides and a kind of reclusive farmer we call the Donkey Man (he has a donkey) on the fourth, we used to see a lot of deer, roadrunners, foxes, and once, a ring-tailed cat.  

In the last two years, in spite of a report from the TNRCC stating that it's a bad idea to build apartments atop a cave formation, developers constructed a massive student housing complex across the road from Aunt Ava's house.  

I always worry about the little animals. It troubles me that they've been forced into smaller and smaller habitats. Sure, there's parkland nearby with lots of green space, but considering the acres and acres of open land they used to roam, we've left them with scraps. My brain tells me humans have to have some place to live. My heart answers with the truth: there are plenty of abandoned buildings we can refurbish closer to town. We can build up instead of out. We can be smarter and kinder at the same time when it comes to protecting the creatures with whom we share this world. 

Hello, soap box. Where did you come from?

Anyway, as I came home from my run last night, I crossed paths with a fox. There's a family of them in the empty field, and they are beautiful. This poem is for them.

Out-fox

A cutout shape:

ears and tail

you whisked

across the path

Wild and cunning,

this mother fox:

black and silver

soft and sharp

Our road,

once your

open field.

Our powerlines,

once your

stream and trees

Still you prowl,

you hunt,

and slink,

bright eyes

and starlight

And you watch me,

keen, calm, alert

You were here before

You are here now

You'll be here

tomorrow,

when we burn

ourselves out.

Austin

I love this town.
Spider House
Austin, Texas