This is post #600.
I have been blogging for 5 years as of this month.
That’s absolutely ridiculous.]
So. The wheelchair. The deal is: NO WHEELED VEHICLES OF ANY KIND are allowed on campsites. No strollers. No bikes. No nothin’. You have to leave them at your car or pay a fine. Do not say things like this to people I am related to. The boy Mulders found the loophole: wheelchairs are an exception, and who’s going to ask you if you’re faking? Right. One $15 trip to St. Vinny’s later, you have 5 days of general mischief and hilarity.
My stomach is still in knots from the anxiety of being an accomplice to this by association. I’m pretty sure everyone’s pew in heaven just got moved back about 5 rows.
We now own a family wheelchair. This will come in handy when one or all of us is/are struck by lightening.
Once upon a time, I was driving out in the country and happened to see these two very sad metal tables sitting out by the curb. Now, that’s just silly. I turned the car around and threw them in the trunk. Every sad piece of metal furniture has a second home at Katie’s House.
I used a wire brush I found in Curt’s tool bag to brush off the flakes of rust. I didn’t try very hard because I am crafty, but I am lazy. These are going to sit outside under a roof with a glass of lemonade and a plant on them… they need not be awesome.
Then, in a fit of productivity at dusk one evening, I grabbed some shiny black farm-equipment spray paint from the pole barn cabinet and sprayed wildly for 10 minutes.
Ta Da. Completely suitable (not to mention, free) porch tables and 2 less things in the landfill.