when you stop thinking things are crazy/strange/weird

We are going to build a fence. Fun, huh?

I actually wanted to hire someone to do it, but it was too expensive. And Island Boy assures me he is quite handy with power tools. Which I have no reason to doubt. I’ve seen him wield a mean drill.

So the fence is quickly becoming a D-I-Y project. Which required a trip to our local hardware/lumber store this morning. It is definitely NOT the Home Depot. But it is as close as you’re going to get on this little rock. There was even a gated yard that we got to drive into to pick up our lumber. Almost exactly like the old Home Depot back home. Almost.

Except I’m pretty certain that at Home Depot they would not let you stack several 16 foot pieces of lumber on the roof of a very old, very rusty and very shaky Suzuki Samurai. And I’m also fairly sure they wouldn’t let you leave the premises with said lumber merely resting on the bimini roof, with one person driving and the other person standing in the back holding the wood in place. No rope, no nothing. No…I don’t think that would fly in the States. At all.

And there was a time not so long ago, when I would see such a visual play out before me here and think to myself “that is fucking crazy.” Well…not anymore. Today it seemed totally normal to do exactly that. Don’t ask why we didn’t take Island Boy’s pick-up truck. No, that would have made too much sense. It was much more of an adrenaline rush to take my Samurai on this particular errand.

Home safe and sound. No one was maimed or killed en route.

Home safe and sound. No one was maimed or killed en route.

And as if the whole situation wasn’t bizarre enough…the police drove by just as we were leaving the store. They didn’t bat an eyelash at us. Of course not. Why would I think they would be at all concerned about the obvious road hazard we were about to become once we pulled out of the parking lot?

Long story short…we made it home safely. Of course we did. Because that’s how it goes on this island. You just get shit done, no matter how or what it takes. And if that means driving a few miles in a rickety, old, easy-to-roll Samurai with really long pieces of wood that would undoubtedly become javelins if projected off the car in the event of a roll-over, then so be it.

All’s well that ends well, right?

 

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