Sleeping with a sledgehammer

As I open our new patios doors and look out over the roped off area that will one day be my new deck, I imagine myself sitting under the shade of patio umbrella, sipping a little umbrella drink in a coconut.

I see myself grilling inch thick T-bones to share with family and friends.

I see the dogs lazily sunning themselves on the deck, stretching and yawning and falling back to sleep in the warm spring sunshine, much like they do now.

In reality what I see are three concrete pillars waiting for the first pieces of wood to be measured, cut and in-stalled. In reality what I see is a pile of lumber in the back yard that I'm going to have to sort through in order to find the least-warped board to use for the footings of my imagined deck.

What I see is another month of waking up feeling like someone has taken a sledgehammer to the middle of my back.

After a two-week absence, Brad finally made it home last weekend to help me with roping off the deck area and digging the holes that will hopefully hold the deck in place. Not by hand, mind you, but with the biggest gas-powered auger we could find in the town of McCook.

Then he had to leave for Wyoming again.

I had all the permits in place Monday afternoon when I got home from work. Now it was time to get down to the good stuff. Pouring the cement -- which has been stored in our basement for the past year.

I've never had much luck with using a wheelbarrow -- especially the one Brad ran over three or four years ago. Its legs now sit at a slight slant and trying to keep it level is next to impossible.

I tried to haul the first two 60-pound bags of cement in it. I barely made it halfway up the driveway before I dumped the two bags and had to reload them. I mixed the cement according to the directions Brad had given me when he left, dumped them down the first hole and got down on my hands and knees to see how much more I would need. I could barely see it. I realized this was going to be a longer process than I had thought.

I found a two-wheel cart in the back yard that made hauling 120 pounds of cement a little easier -- at least it didn't tip over when I pulled it up the driveway, taking little rest breaks as I made my way up the hill.

With each bag I lifted from the basement, pulled up the driveway, lifted out of the cart, poured into the wheelbarrow, mixed and dumped down the holes, my legs grew weaker and my back ached a little more.

I was finally down to the last bag -- or so I thought. I gathered it from the basement and threw it into the cart. It didn't take long to figure out what I'd been doing wrong -- one bag of cement is a lot easier to haul than two. I mixed my last bag of cement, poured it into the hole -- and felt the tears starting to well -- I would need one more.

I couldn't face lifting the 15th 60-pound bag of cement from the basement to the cart, out of the cart and into the wheelbarrow one more time.

Instead I found the one closest to the top of the pile, flipped it up over my shoulder and carried it to the wheelbarrow.

I imagine that's where the sledgehammer in the back came into play.

I haven't touched the deck since then. I figure the concrete is going to take at least three weeks to cure. I know that's probably how long it will take my back to heal.

By then, Brad should be back for a few days and I'll have him "show me how to use the chop saw," for the sixth time this year.

In the meantime, I may just start doing a little fishing. I hear they're catching some big ones out at Hugh Butler Lake. If you don't believe me, just ask my brother, Russ. I guess the one he brought in was pretty good sized, but the meat was a little tough and it was a little hard to get a decent filet out of it.

By the way, Russ (Banzhaf) will be celebrating his 49th birthday this Saturday -- while I know you can all do the math, I just have to rub it in a little -- that means a year from now he'll be 50. Forty-five doesn't sound so bad when you consider he has 50 chasing him down and, let's face it, that's one race he's going to lose.