Today our beautiful pergola met it's maker.
Yup, with chainsaw, or at Theo calls it "big cutta", in hand and grandma and grandpa there to supervise, our pergola was taken down, piece by piece.
hashtag sniff sniff.
I mean, it was rotting, falling apart and tilting coyly toward our house, so there was no doubt about it, it needed to come down, but just like anything else I got a bit emo about the whole darn thing. Seriously, I almost cut myself bangs. It was that kind of day around here.
I hate to get all nostalgic, but our backyard was the selling point to our home. We live within the city limits of a bustling metropolis, yet we have our own little piece of paradise and even better for the melanin deprived, our own little slice of shaded area. It was our place where we could play and point our fingers at the sun chiding "you can't catch us here" while forgoing sunscreen just for the heck of it.
More importantly, the coming down of the pergola is a white flag of sorts for us, we're pretty much surrendering the fact that we can't take care of the beauty that we inherited from our fist big purchase of a family even if it was relatively old to begin with.
::sigh:: I guess you can go ahead and call a spade a spade.
The pergola coming down means that times are a changin' and I'm not ready for it. I've been misty ll day just thinking about all of the work put into putting that up from the previous owners of 50 years who are now in their late 80's and living in an apartment. All of that love and energy. Gone in the whir of a chainsaw. It's all too much for me to handle, and when I was uttering these sentiments to my husband, he made the point that I wasn't at all nostalgic when we got rid of the shag carpet, or re-painted everything (twice), or hung new light fixtures. Sheesh. Men really suck the fun out of sulking don't they?
So with this final curtain call we say adieu to our Pergola and hello to constant applications of sunscreen.
Get ready for some freckles.