Park Benches

 Here’s why Scott thinks I’m [fill in the blank]. We have four wooden park benches outside our home, one of which is teak and has a place of honor; my favorite peach pink hibiscus on each side and backed by hollies. That bench is not part of this current dilemma.

However, the other three benches are the made up problem; old fashioned and endearingly plain, ordinary run of the mill wood benches, like the long ago benches in parks, ergo the name: park bench. A few years ago it had been delicately suggested by one of the yard men that, quite possibly, they were no longer sturdy enough for an adult, or even a child, or maybe especially a child, to sit on. Okay, the outdoors are now standing room only, but they’re so sweet and while I didn’t want anyone to get hurt; picture a man wandering about the grounds (like it’s Downton Abbey), noticing a park bench, he sits, a light breeze is flowing off the waters, he closes his eyes, letting the sun warmly kiss his face and then suddenly, boom, he’s on the ground, with splinters in places not normally seen in public, gashed arms and a general miasma of foul language spewing forth from said gentleman, not to mention other weightier repercussions, one must endure certain travails in life. Notice that I referred to ‘he’ because no woman would ever sit on a dirty bench and soil her pretty outfit, but I digress. 

Anyway, that pitiful scenario and outcome was what I was trying to avoid so a while ago I purchased three oblong, dark green, inexpensive plastic planters at a discount store and filled them with hearty,  bright red geraniums. Nothing that the summer brings can kill those flowers, plus all that green greenery kinda got on my nerves every once in a while. Firmly ensconed in their new planters I sat one long planter on each bench, thereby discouraging anything weighing more than ten pounds to join their floral company. And each spring the old flowers were replaced with bright new red geraniums. Everyone was happy.

Finally, the day came when one of the yard guys said: “señora Linda, benches not so good”. Yes, the wood underneath the planters had rotted. Now came the conundrum. The cast iron arm rests can’t be replaced in this day and age; everything is made from aluminum, but the wooden slats are replaceable. So I had them hauled down to the local hardware store and asked to have them duplicated. All well and good but then it began: the new wood needed to be varnished to withstand the great outdoors. Okay, let’s add the varnish and brushes to the purchase list, not to mention the labor (not mine, the yard guys) before the new benches were once again ready for the great outdoors. 

Now, back to the original planters. The water that dripped out of the planters after the rains was the cause of the wood rot so it was suggested that I buy some equally inexpensive bases for the planters. Ah, but apparently the only colors available are black and terra cotta. Manufacturers don’t like green either? Now they won’t match, so should I throw caution to the wind, purchase a different color base and let them not match; horrors, what will the neighbors say. Or do I buy new planters with matching bases. That is one solution but then what do I do with the old planters. And now that the bench wood is new and able to sustain a human without falling down and yelling lawsuit, do I even need to place planters on the bench seats. Yes, because otherwise there’s no color; just green, green, green. Green trees leaves, green grass, green bushes. There is one ruby red weeping merlot tree, which I would like to join in effigy right now.  

See why my stomach is always up in knots. Plus, I have to explain to Scott why I’ve paid so much money for the new long life wooden slats, the preservative varnish, the natural bristle brushes, the labor, etc. when I could simply have purchased a few new benches at half the cost and tossed the old ones because, as he will undoubtedly point out, how much longer are we going to be alive anyway?