The Gate

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My discomfort in personal exposure is another way of acknowledging a total preoccupation with me, my, and I in this publication process. And nothing good comes of that!

The antidote? Physical labor, preferably outdoors, such as staining our gate, which isn't your average garden gate.

The cross timber stands 18 feet high. Thank heavens Mike manned the tall ladder and left me to stain the lower posts. The next day I supervised while Mike and neighbor Cliff affixed the steel cap to the cross beam. Scary moments and a hundred trips up and down the ladders (for them), and we admired the newly coffee-colored gate and faux-copper cap.

The thought of my former boss, old friends, or in-laws reading what I wrote didn't cross my mind, neck craned and scuttling around for drills and screws and footing the ladders. Nope. Those thoughts returned later, a little less daunting after a project well-done.

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