A couple of weeks ago I fell in love with a porch swing at Costco. My husband reminded me we had one thirty or so years ago but I have no idea what happened to it. We relocated so many times over the years, I suspect it either disintegrated or we left it at a house in some other state. All I knew was I longed for that porch swing. I pictured myself sitting there, writing, reading, meditating, listening to birds, all of it. To compensate for my generally impulsive nature, I agreed to give it a day or two to think over. When my answer was still yes, I dragged my husband back to Costco, only to discover the only one left was the display model and they weren’t willing to sell it. The store computer said there were more at other Costcos in the area so we headed to the next closest one, about fifteen minutes north. Needless to say, I had only visualized it as whole but there was my swing — or rather, there were a lot of pieces — in a huge and heavy box. We put it on a large flatbed cart and with the help of a two Costco employees, wrangled it into our vehicle. We don’t have a truck so settled for tying down the hatchback of our SUV and hoped for the best. We were ready to go — until our car decided it didn’t want to start. I hoped it wasn’t the universe’s way of telling me I shouldn’t have the porch swing but the Costco tire center came to the rescue and lent us a charger. At home, I took everything out of the box and spread all the parts out on the cement patio. I was daunted by the number of pieces and the next day we were scheduled to leave on a camping trip so the project got nowhere. I was hoping some genie might appear and I’d find the swing assembled by the time we got home, but no. Turns out my husband was able to be that genie. The good news: it’s as wonderful as I’d hoped it would be and I’m sitting in it right now.


Image courtesy u_xxy51rfzka on Pixabay.com

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