Barbecue Decks and Magic Charms

 Now that the heat has broken I am up off the couch, the fans no longer run in multiples all over the house and I am able to go outside and actually do chores, which my ass appreciates because I don't have much of an ass, and so sitting on what I don't have all day long ends up being a literal pain in the ass.  It's like I have a pair of elbows back there instead of nalgas.  Being up and around is infinitely better than just sitting on a cold gel pack watching YouTube.  This is one of those weird things they don't tell you about getting old.  You get assless.  And I was no bass star to begin with.

So I've been outside working in the yard and doing errands and minor household repairs, puttering, which I love.  Just dipshitting around doing all the little necessary things.  And a few big things too, like cutting out a couple of trees and hauling in a few loads of nice, dry lagoonage before monsoon season arrives and getting that spread around.  Doing some touch-up work on the house paint.  Repairing the barbecue deck. 

We have a barbecue deck made out of machine grade oak boards that's finally giving up the ghost after 18 years, and that's not bad for a free deck that the Biker made out of huge oak shipping crates made for carrying sheet steel blanks.  I've been repairing it with old license plates, and it looks pretty kewell.  You end up with lots of old license plates when you're married to a motorhead. He throws them away, I fish them out of the shop trash and we have the most awesome barbecue deck going.  

I am convinced that the barbecue deck is the male version of the She Shed.  It is it's own whole sub-deck one step down off our main patio deck specifically for outdoor cooking purposes, with a  wood grill, a smoker, a propane grill and a utility cabinet-worktop.  It gets used all the time, and it's a two-man setup. I did not know this was a man thing, but apparently it is.  His buddies come over with large chunks of raw cow or what have you and they all set food on fire outside together.  This deck has seen a lot of testosterone, beer and grease.  And license plates.

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I have a shed, and I'm a she, technically, but my shed is full of power tools and various cutting implements powered by gasoline.  And saws and shovels and, you know, yard shit.  Tomato cages and flower pots and stuff. Tarps.  And a bit of pagan symbolism to draw in the fertile and creative properties of the universe.  

Come to that, I went around a couple of days ago and took a look at all the 'good luck' stuff I have around.  Horseshoes with nails over the doorways to chase off what needs chasing, a couple of giant fish hooks jammed into the wood next to the door (This is an old Finnish thing that my grandparents had and meant that you'd never go hungry.) I have 'hand of blessing' doorway charms, and I have a few ring rocks here and there just in case.  I painted the ceiling of my front porch blue, which is a sure way of keeping out haints and demons and the influence of the evil eye and general badness.  

The blue porch ceiling was another thing that my grandparents had.  My grandmother painted it over when she converted to Seventh Day, but she never took down the horseshoes or the fish hooks, oh hell no.  

Or the scythes.  

You want to scare some bad shit, and you were raised rural and German, you put a Grim Reaper scythe up on your house.  She had three!  They were out on the back porch where they used to entertain company; all mixed in with misery whip sawblades and ox bows and elk antlers and cart wheels and all that kind of stuff like you used to see on older peoples houses or barns, old hand forged tools and signs and so forth. But those three scythes were meant for purposes other than rustic ornament. NOTHING was gonna get past those things. 

Now my mother was all about the holy medals and crucifixes and light switch plates with Jesus on them that glowed in the dark.  Every single doorway had a holy medal over it. Crucifixes in every room, including the garage and the basement. By the time I moved out Jesus had pretty much taken over the place, so at least she had a spare room to put him up in.  (And she did.  Oh boy, did she ever.  Ask me nice and I might re-run that story for you.)

It's funny how you might not quite believe in it, but it makes you feel better having those things there just in case.  Does my little tribute to celestial influences out in the shed make my garden grow better?  Do the fish hooks keep us in groceries?  Does the blue porch roof really repel evil?

Maybe not.  But maybe so.  And maybe is where magic lives.