So, there I was.

Sitting on my park bench.  Crocheting.

Zorro is doing his bounding around the yard, sniffing, greeting neighbors on their afternoon constitutionals and otherwise entertaining himself.

Suddenly, something is amiss.  I heard metallic 'ping', and the wooden slats beneath my butt feel insecure. What the heck?  Oh, I know THIS  can't be good.  I'm almost afraid to move.

Peculiar isn't it, when you know there's an unexpected 'something' looming that is going to disrupt you lazy, hazy late spring afternoon?

Shoot.

But stand up I do, and I can see through the wooden slats, the metal brace holding the slats into place is hanging loose.  Crap!  Sigh.  Since neighborhood ladies come to visit, I know I'm going to have to repair this before somebody sits on this bench and plops all the way down to the ground.

So, I get down onto the ground and scrunch myself under the bench, like a mechanic trying to get under a car and have a 'look-see' around.  To my dismay, I discover, the screw that held the metal brace to the wooden slat had rusted 'clean away'.  While the accompanying one, was simply...gone.  "Oh, my."  This is definitely not good.

It's late in the afternoon, I thought I was done with my chores and I hate, hate, hate unexpected occurrences like this.  I know I've got to take care of this immediately.  I trudge to the house, cursing under my breath. Yes, I know that doesn't help, it never does.

I've got the rusted screw in my hand, I'm surprised how short and stubby it is, and I'm amazed that it ever did any good at all holding the brace into place.  I take my trusty tool box off the shelf, and begin to scrounge around in the miscellaneous screws section.  (Where have they come from in the first place?)  I manage to find one that's just a gauge fatter, a bit longer and hope I can find one more to match. Hallelujah, I do.

I grab one of the Phillips screwdrivers from the bottom section of my tool box and
go confront my demon. I scrunch myself under the bench once more. This is going to be tricky.  I'm on my back and somehow I'm going to have to press the metal strap, wooden strap together, while trying to screw the new screw into place at the same time.  What I really needed was another pair of hands.

After dropping the screw into the grass a couple of times, and having to start over, I got a system going, and before long the new screw was neatly, tightly in place.  Now, for the second screw.  (Honestly, sometimes I'm such a dummy.)  Wouldn't you think, I'd have taken the second screw with me when I went under the bench?  Oh, no...not me.  I had put it on the table sitting next to the park bench.  As a result, I had to extricate myself from under the bench to get the screw, then scrunch myself under the bench one more time.

After I had secured the second screw into place I decide (like a good mechanic) to have a good look around, and discover another screw is missing.  DANG IT.

What's a body to do!  Why of course, what any good body would.  I climb out from under the bench, stomp into the house, look for and find another screw and stomp back out and under the bench.  This time Zorro decided he wanted to help.  There he is, one foot on my chest, his moist pink nose right next to mine.  Of course he's not happy till his nose leaves sweat streaks across the right lens of my glasses. Once he decides I can't play, I'm able to put the third screw into place.

By now, I've worked up a bit of a sweat, and have lost interest in wanting to enjoy a 'sit in the sun'; I tuck the screwdriver in my armpit, put my crocheting into my yarn bag, grab my water bottle and huff and puff myself back into the house.  Zorro hot on my heels.

As I'm putting my tool box away, I'm contemplating this job is not really over.  Since the park benches are so old, I'm thinking that over the summer I'm going to be making several more trips under them.  I'm also thinking I'm thankful I've got such a wide variety of screws in my tool box.  (Where the heck have they come from in the first place?)