Diagonals

Just when I thought school was getting all-consuming, it got even more all consuming-er.  Lesson planning, emails to parents, correcting papers, organizing our Yosemite field trip, teaching my English Learner class how to make tissue paper flowers to sell at the Harvest Festival, assessments, more grading, more emails, more lesson planning... It's crazy.  In my attempt to be an effective teaching and do everything I'm supposed to do for my students, I've lost my perspective and inner balance.  Somehow it's come to pass that I now feel guilt and worry when my home life intrudes on my school work.  On a Friday evening.  Or a Saturday morning, with the sun shining and all of Frogpond waiting for me.  As I said, it's crazy.

So, this last weekend, in an attempt to break away from this endless work cycle, I drove up to Sacramento with Bruce to pick up a used chicken coop that I'd seen on Craig's List.  We need a raccoon-proof shelter for the ducks in the dog run so that we don't have to herd them across the yard and into the barn every night.  This coop, while not fancy, was the right size and price.  Best of all, it looked very much like the one Bruce had in his head to build -- except this one was already done.  So off we went in the jeep, pulling the utility trailer behind us. 

When we got to Brego from the Ukraine's place, the coop was behind the house and exactly what we were looking for.  Except for the extra 1/4" width that made it impossible to wedge into the trailer.  Brego from Ukraine and Bruce from Frogpond did their best to muscle it in anyway -- one of them said hopefully that maybe the trailer would stretch a bit.  Not surprisingly, it didn't.  Bruce suggested taking the back wall of the coop off.  This worried me because once it was disassembled I wasn't sure it would ever get put back together again square and true.

It seemed to me that the thing might be slid into the trailer on the diagonal, resting on one bottom edge leaning on the trailer side.  Bruce didn't say anything and Brego politely listened before patiently explaining why this wouldn't be possible.  I politely listened back and then hesitantly said that I might be wrong, but it sure seemed like my diagonal ideacould work.  Brego's grown son then showed up and the three men studied the problem together.  I again mentioned my idea.  The men had little response. 

Then Brego's friend from down the street arrived.  He was one of those full-of-confidence men who think quickly and then act on their ideas.  His idea was to slide the coop into the trailer on the diagonal.  The other three men turned to look at me where I stood in the trailer like a rather scruffy queen.  "So," I said, "A man has the same idea."  Everyone agreed that this was indeed the case.

Then the four men, with much huffing and puffing and straining of mighty muscles, slid that coop, on the diagonal, right into the back of the trailer. 

To their credit, they were good sports. 
"I thought it might work," I said humbly. 
"You were right,"  Brego from Ukraine agreed.
"First time all week," I said.
"You were right as recently as that?" asked friend from down the street.

And that was when I had the biggest and best laugh I've had in a very long time.  It felt remarkably good.


Shortly, you will learn how Bruce, one orange cat, a Kubota tractor, our ancient garden cart, and I managed to move this bazillion pound (at least) coop from the tractor to the dog run.