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June 18, 2005 ~ Firsts
Saturday.
Morgan will be gone on a business trip to New York City on Father's Day. (Yeah. And he's staying on Times Square. Crazy, huh?) So I knew that if I wanted to surprise him, it would have to be yesterday, when he came home from work. The baby may not be here yet, but he is still a father.
Since I had some shopping to do for materials to make signs with for the wolf rescue, I stopped by a few stores and comparison shopped for a few woven rope hammocks.
Ever since we moved in, Morgan has wanted a woven-rope hammock for the side yard. A place he could retreat to, under the cool of the trees, to read and relax after work every day. Well, we went shopping for hammocks. It was early spring, however, and they were incredibly expensive. "Let's make one instead," he said. I told him how to make one from canvas since making a woven rope hammock sounded like a rather frustrating prospect for someone with no experience, "but, no, I really want a woven rope one," he insisted.
The project went fine, at first. He drilled holes through two red oak slats, sanded them, oiled them, and we came up with a really logical, sturdy design for the weaving. I taught him some good sturdy knots. Then he started in on the weaving.
Oh the weaving. Poor man. You see, Morgan hates knots. He'd get a little ways, but then develop a knot in his rope, and oh the cursing and the storming and the throwing down of the knotted rope, and the pleading me to unknot it, and the unraveling of the ropes from surviving one too many knots, and the various failed methods of weaving that he abandoned when they would not work, and the methods of suspending the hammock pieces to create some tension, and the crisis of Rose trying to eat the rope... When he finally got three lengths of rope woven, he came to an entirely new problem. Everything wanted to bunch together, and it quickly became apparent that he would not be able to figure out which hole to go through for the next rope, though we tried all sorts of marking methods--rods to hold the holes open, little pieces of yarn tied around the last length, tape, fingers, etc., etc., etc.
In the end, it was not to be. Morgan, much depressed, gave up the hammock-making project, and we used the copious amounts of rope to move a gazillion ton piano instead.
At first it seemed my shopping search would be no more successful. But at the last store, I finally found it. A woven-rope hammock for far less than any of the others I'd seen. Money has been so tight lately, it felt really good to go ahead and spend for a treat. I brought the hammock home, assembled the various parts, and mounted it in the side yard between two trees. Morgan was sure to see it as soon as he got home, and the anticipation of the look on his face had me grinning all afternoon.
I went inside and tackled the dirty kitchen and living room, then pulled out the gallon of strawberries that I'd bought from a farmer at the roadside on my way home, washed them and started preparing them for strawberry shortcake.
Oh, you should have seen the look on his face. Somewhat shocked confusion (How'd she do that??), then a big grin slowly spread across it. The dogs and I sat outside with him for an hour while he enjoyed the hammock. "Anything you want for dinner," I said. He decided to have our friend Joel over for a little grill party. It was a wonderful evening.
Happy first Father's Day, Morgan. I love you. (And good grief, I'm going to miss you the next few days!)
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