Sometimes miracles happen.

If you just happen to be a facebook friend, you already know about my sore toe.  And, I'll get to that, but first this tale has a bit of a back story.

I've written before here on my blog about the property we used to own directly behind my house.  We kept it like a park, very natural, it had a tree house, swings, see-saw, quaint gardens, gazebo, etc.  I'm not sure I mentioned the park benches.  There were two of them, they sat on a concrete slab, and were a great place to sit when company came, or to have a libation and unwind from a hectic day.

When my husband died, the first thing I did was sell the lots.  Oh, I had lots of folks who said they would help me to maintain this chunk of land, and I knew they were all sincere in their desire to help.  However, although I'm old and somewhat 'flaky' sometimes, I'm also realistic.  I know their intentions were good and honorable, I also knew what it took to maintain that park...it was extremely hard work...my husband and I were constantly vigilant in our endeavors to keep it a neighborhood pleasure, not an eyesore.  My neighbors are very busy people and have lives of their own, so I knew the park would eventually suffer from neglect.

So, sold the lots, I did.

I always regretted I did not take the two park benches when I sold the property.  I really did want them, but I thought whoever bought the property, especially if they had children would enjoy that particular triangle of the property and use the benches on a regular basis.

Over the years several families have lived in the house constructed on the property and none of them...not a one...has ever taken the tarp off the benches and used them.

Oh, I thought about those benches a lot.

Last week I noticed someone had taken the tarp off the benches.  I grew excited. Maybe someone was going to finally use them.  Days passed.

Saturday arrived. 

I just happened to be pulling weeds in my back yard garden, when I heard the sound of an electric saw, it was very close by.  When the saw stopped, I walked in the direction of the sound and found the fella who owns the property standing by the gazebo.  I ask him what he's doing.

I'm told he is going to saw the top off the gazebo.  I laugh...no, seriously...I laugh...long and hard.  He's giving me that 'Wazz wrong with you, old lady" look.  So I tell him my husband built that gazebo (and any and everything else) to last forever and I hoped he will not have too much trouble getting the gazebo down. 

I check on him twice, hoping he would not hurt himself...I know how heavy those prefabbed pieces of roof are, because, I was one of the two people who hoisted those suckers up there in the first place, and also, nail them into place.

He finally got it disassembled.

Sunday afternoon.

Again I'm pulling weeds in the back yard garden.  Who should come on the scene, but the fella who tore down the gazebo.  We chat.  I tell him the gazebo looks great...it's now simply a bridge with a seating area on each side.  He wants to know if I would have any objections if they bought some chickens.  I tell him that sounded great.  He's going to disassemble the park benches so they can construct a coop on the concrete pad.  Then, out of the blue he asks me if I would like the park benches.

Would I...oh my gosh...would I...YES, YES, YES.

So he physically picks them up, carries them and plops them into my back yard.  I'm thrilled beyond words.  They are actually in pretty good condition, considering they have been hiding under a tarp for more than ten years.  I just have to decide where I want them.  I measure them and the prospective places I might want to put them.

I decide on the curved area along my new retaining wall. 

It's Monday.

I figure the neighborhood is going to be quiet, everyone will be at work, no one will see this Rambling Old Woman trying to drag these two park benches to their new home.  How hard could this be?  My neighbor had actually carried them to my yard, I know I can't pick them up, like he did.  But I can certainly drag them.

Damn, they are heavier than I expected.  Stubbornness kicks in...I will do this.  So, I pick up the end of one, step backwards a few steps and drag the bench along.  I go the whole length of the house, then have to make a corner, and drag it along another side of the house, open a gate, and then drag it along the front yard to the curve of my retaining wall.

Once I got one in place, I contemplate quitting.  Dang, that was hard.  Do I actually quit...H-E(double hockey sticks) no.  I drag the second bench to where I have to make the corner. 

Uh-oh.  Here it comes.

I get careless, probably because I'm getting tired and I just want to get the bench to it's new home.  I do not notice where my feet are and I set the bench down on my left big toe...Ohooohhhhoooooo.  The pain was awful.  I lift the bench off my toe and hobble to a chair, remove my shoe and check out the damage.  The skin was broken, but there was no blood.  I could move the toe, so that was not broken.  But the pain would not recede. 

My mom, had no sympathy for me what-so-ever, and said what she always did, "rub it, and walk it off".  This time My Aunt Lill was with her...and she said..."don't worry, honey; it'll get better before you get married"...what the heck?  Thanks mom, Aunt Lill.  That helps a lot.

So I rub my toe, put my shoe back on and get back to pulling the damn bench.

Oh, you have no idea the pride I felt when I finally put that second bench into place.  I might be in pain...I might be near exhaustion...but I did it.  All seventy-five years of me. 

Yes, there are some morals to this little tale.  First, never give up that some miracle might happen, I got my benches back.  Second, you can work through the pain.  And third, never tell an old woman she can't do something...because I can guarantee she will.