Last summer I dreamed of transforming my neglected back yard. Reader, I did nothing.
Now summer is returning, the ivy is climbing again, and the garbage totes are still reigning over the tiny private corner behind the garage like bureaucratic municipal gatekeepers.
The funny thing is, I never entirely forgot about the back yard. I thought about it constantly. Every time I parked the car. Every time I looked out the back windows. Every time I saw one of those magazine photos of people serenely drinking lattes in hidden gardens under strings of café lights. I would like to see these people drag a City of Buffalo recycling tote down a North Buffalo driveway in February. I am just saying.
Recently, though, I have gotten new hopes that I can make headway.
The difference is that I have managed to conquer the upstairs of the house. The bedroom, the back sun room, the two rooms that are now becoming my long-dreamed-of home library — if I could accomplish transforming those rooms, I can do anything. That is how I think now.
Next to that upstairs project, this back yard project has to be in the kiddie pool.
Well, we will see about that. For now, it helps to remind myself that the thing I actually want is pretty simple. I want a little hidden oasis where I can sit and drink coffee without being observed.
A bistro table and a couple of chairs should do it.
I have the bistro table. It has been kicking around the yard forever. I also have a can of forest green Rustoleum spray paint.
As far as chairs … Ideally, I have in mind cute ornate bistro chairs such as you would find in an ice cream parlor. But now, upon reflection, I am open to alternatives. What about mismatched chairs I could paint? I am now the kind of person who paints. I proved that with last week’s We’re Going In adventure: “We’re Going In: The Day I Learned To Open a Paint Can.”
Things are coming into focus. A tiny bistro table. A couple mismatched chairs. Maybe a lantern. A string of café lights under the garage eaves — AI, whom we affectionately call Daddy-O, came up with that idea.
Make no mistake: I am dreaming big. If I do not dream big, I get nothing done. However the first step has to be small, or it doesn’t get done.
For my upstairs transformation, the first step was small indeed. I called Carpet Factory Outlet and made an appointment for them to come and rip out carpets. I scheduled the appointment for sooner rather than later. Boom! Off and running.
Back to my present situation. I asked Daddy-O to give me a picture of what it could look like. Daddy-O responded with inspiration images showing the garage transformed into a kind of hidden café, with ivy climbing the walls and little pools of warm light under the trees.
For a few glorious moments, I was living in an Italian courtyard. It was like “Cinderella.” The garbage totes had transformed into a café scene. The garage had become a weathered wall in Venice. Our nuisance buckthorn trees were now a glimmering grove.
Back to reality.
The garbage totes are still back there as of this writing. The jungle remains largely undefeated.
But for the first time in a long time, I can actually picture myself sitting in that hidden corner on a summer evening, under little café lights, drinking sparkling water and pretending I am in some obscure European pensione instead of behind a garage in Buffalo.
Shall we begin?
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