07.20.06
Sounds like a good time, doesn’t it?
Let me clarify that these are two grown-up boys, sometimes we even call them men, but for the purpose of this story just remember how things like chainsaws so quickly turn men back into mischievous boys. Call it a second childhood, if you like. Or an extended one.
A few nights ago the ‘boys’ discussed cutting down the tree to make way for the imaginary deck. It sounded like a real good day for me to be at work and for our Little Miss to go to grandma’s. Girls should stay out of play-dates that involve trees and chainsaws. Well, unless the girls are the mighty sort that want to wield the chainsaws themselves. It happens. Actually, it happened to me, once, a long time ago. There is a satisfying sense of power one gets holding a chainsaw in their hands and watching branches drop off of trees. But I digress. That was for fun. This is for real, and I knew if I wanted the tree to actually getcut down it would be in my best interest to stay out of the way. Preferably far, far away. Like at work.
At lunchtime I called those boys to see how goes the tree felling. I wished I hadn’t. Oh, the stories they told of hollow trees, and stumps and hornets’ nests and… gasoline.
What? Gasoline?
I know boys. If there’s gasoline then matches can’t be too far out of the realm of possibilities. Of course, the speed of the decision to add fire to gasoline is directly proportionate to the amount of alcohol thus far consumed. I was in luck. Alcohol wasn’t involved. Yet. I caught them having breakfast, hoping that the gas fumes alone would drive the bees and hornets away. So I said something like, “Whichever of you idiots comes up with the idea of throwing matches on that tree is in trouble. Or as Little Miss would say, “You in bi-i-i-g trouble, Dude.”
Did I mention the tree is very close to my house? Like… within 8 feet. I really hoped they were listening when I made the “no matches” rule. I found out later that there’d been an oversight. I did not make a ‘no burning cigarettes’ rule, however it seems luck was on my side.
I’m not even sure I’ve heard all the tree stories yet. I do know that there are still large pieces of intact tree trunk laying in the yard and more than a few discombobulated bees. And I know I’m getting very differing points of view about the events of the day. I commented to my husband that I was impressed they didn’t drop the tree on the house. He held out his hand showing a few inches between his thumb and forefinger and said, “It was this close.”
“Whoa.” I said, “So what was your strategy?”
“Prayer,” he answered.
My confidence level dropped a notch or two on that one.
I said to my friend, “My husband said the only thing that kept the tree from hitting the house was prayer,” and he said something along the lines of, “No worries. It was so well-planned it wasn’t even funny… in theory.”
I decided it might be best for my peace of mind not to ask any more questions at all. Just shut up and say thank you. Phase One of Operation Imaginary Deck complete (well, almost). Now we just have to strongly encourage the bees to go away so we can finish cutting and stacking what remains of the tree. All right, I’m telling a big fat lie. It would be so my husband can finish cutting and stacking it. I’m still staying far away from this one. I’m just the idiot who said we need a deck this year. Other than that I’m keeping my distance.
Sometimes leaving boys alone with chainsaws is a bad thing. Sometimes you get lucky and the boys are on the wagon. Whew.
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