Nature: Suburban Vandal

Beneath our weathered and tired back deck, there is a door. This door provides access to a muddy storage area - currently home to two empty and rusted propane tanks, a broken patio table, a bunch o' big rocks, and miscellaneous leftover trash and broken toys from the previous homeowners. The area is hidden from view on three sides by walls of weathered and tired planks, and on the fourth by a disintegrating sheet of lattice...

At some point in the past few months, a strong wind whipped down Fireside Drive, across our driveway, toward the back yard, through the shitty lattice work under our deck, and pummeled into the aforementioned door repeatedly like it was Eric Lindros' swollen head. At some point, the door was blown clean off of it's hinges. Not having much reason to go into my backyard during the winter months, it took several weeks (I assume) for me to notice that this door was no longer upright and in place, but was laying face-first in the muddy snow (also like Eric Lindros, kind of), and failing to hide the mess of crap "stored" back there. I'm sure our neighbours noticed...

Out of laziness and coldness and apathy, my quick fix for this was to prop the door back into position, lining up the hinges as best as possible, and to re-fasten the latch. I had no delusions that this would be a permanent fix, that would come in the summer when we tear the place apart and make it look all pretty like. Well, it is now April, and I have re-propped up this door a half-dozen times. What a comedy. I can only imagine where my reputation stands among our snooty Colby neighbours, some of whom I'm sure are muttering something like "a stitch in time saves nine" each time I trudge out back and half-assedly carry out this futile act, as I will have to do again tonight because the damn door fell over sometime last night.

Maybe I'll use some scotch tape.