It happened again. Though not officially fall for another week and a half, a seasonal ritual took place today. Since my teenage son was around for a rare Saturday moment, the timing was perfect.
The porch swing was carried from the kitchen set back down to the basement.
Didn’t I just carry this up from the basement? My obliging son asks.
It’s a seasonal ritual, I reply. The carrying up of the swing in the spring in hope that THIS will be the year that I sand, repaint, and hang it. The dragging on of summer. The realization that maybe it will be NEXT year’s tree of life moment. The return to the basement.
The swing was found at the Belmont Yard Sale many a year ago by my dear sis-in-law, who picked it up for me.
If you see a porch swing, let me know, I told her.
It hung for a time on the old porch, always with the intention that one day I would repaint and rehang it.
There was the porch project that is still a work in progress as we save up money to finish it.
Oh! You live in that house on the corner that is going through the remodel.
Yes, we do. The twelve-year remodel.
There was the idea that it would be nice to have a swing hanging.
There is another season gone. Another desire delayed for a spell. There is only so much time. So much space. So much money. So much energy.
So I have my son return the swing to the basement after toying with the idea of putting it out on the curb. We almost got money for it on Craig’s List one year. Almost.
Maybe next year will be the year. For now, I just need to stick with my word and continue the seasonal ritual.