Pimp My Outhouse
'Before' photo.It is finished.
A wonderful friend of ours owns property in Northern Virginia. On occasion she and her girlfriends (also wonderful friends) ditch their families and technology and running water for a weekend and go camping out there.
On the property there was only a store-bought shed structure and an old, leaning, bug-ridden shack of an outhouse. Using the outhouse, I'm told, was a triumph of bravery and distraction. They wouldn't close the door when doing their business and the others would do little 'skits' in front of the outhouse to distract the occupant from looking around her confines. Though truthfully I don't see why that would be necessary, the outhouse was icky enough to scare the poop out of anyone.
We decided, this just would not do.
So without their knowledge or permission,
we tipped it,
pissed on it,
took sledge hammer to it
and hauled it away.
The hole was maybe a foot deep and the cinderblock foundation slanted heavily toward the back.
SO - we dug it out, deeper than before, and made the foundation better, stronger, higher.
Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch
Construction had begun in our parlor.
We weren't sure how long it would take and we didn't want it exposed to the elements. We knew we would be transporting it in the truck so we built it in panels that could be 'easily' disassembled and reassembled.
We had pretty much all the basic elements in mind before it was being built. However, there were still a lot of fuzzy elements that we weren't too sure about.
Of course it had to have a bench with a hole and a seat. Stained wainscotting with a chair rail (added later) was absolutely necessary. What self-respecting outhouse DOESN'T have wainscotting? Not to mention the tiled floor and bench and the marble threshold?
We knew we wanted tapestried walls, but we didn't know what colors or patterns and whether or not to coat it with verithane or leave it 'natural.' After a little bloodletting and slapfights, we chose this interior from Rick's personal stash.
That 'canvas' on the easel you see above is the 2" X 2" wood panel cut from the window hole. We knew the throne room needed a royal presence, but weren't sure who that would be. We finally decided that Queen Elizabeth I would be privy to all the interior activities, so I set to sketching, adding a little more pursing of the lips and arching in the eyebrows.
Everyone knows that a throneroom needs a throne. Inspired by the Throne of Scone, which is the British coronation throne, we made a few modifications to both personalize it and make it more approriate to the application.
A heart was added to the top to complement the tapestry, and the arms were lowered so as not to interfere with 'leaners.'
We weren't sure how long it would take and we didn't want it exposed to the elements. We knew we would be transporting it in the truck so we built it in panels that could be 'easily' disassembled and reassembled.
We had pretty much all the basic elements in mind before it was being built. However, there were still a lot of fuzzy elements that we weren't too sure about.
Of course it had to have a bench with a hole and a seat. Stained wainscotting with a chair rail (added later) was absolutely necessary. What self-respecting outhouse DOESN'T have wainscotting? Not to mention the tiled floor and bench and the marble threshold?
We knew we wanted tapestried walls, but we didn't know what colors or patterns and whether or not to coat it with verithane or leave it 'natural.' After a little bloodletting and slapfights, we chose this interior from Rick's personal stash.
That 'canvas' on the easel you see above is the 2" X 2" wood panel cut from the window hole. We knew the throne room needed a royal presence, but weren't sure who that would be. We finally decided that Queen Elizabeth I would be privy to all the interior activities, so I set to sketching, adding a little more pursing of the lips and arching in the eyebrows.
Everyone knows that a throneroom needs a throne. Inspired by the Throne of Scone, which is the British coronation throne, we made a few modifications to both personalize it and make it more approriate to the application.
A heart was added to the top to complement the tapestry, and the arms were lowered so as not to interfere with 'leaners.'
Assembly #2
We'd done pretty much all we could do with the Outhouse in-house.
The roof would've made it too tall to fit in the parlor, so we had to disassemble it, cart it outside, and reassemble it in the back yard.
Putting all of the roof pieces together had to wait until the ceiling panel was done. We knew we wanted a mirror mosaic on the ceiling. I had a Rubbermaid tote in the yard full of pieces of mirror left over from some other projects.
I actually thought that we had enough to cover the entire ceiling, (my original plan) but fortunately I was wrong. We had just enough of the thick glass mirror to create a gorgeous mosaic moon and Rick's affinity for crystal (not Meth) meant stars for the deep blue background.
One of our plans was to make an outhouse that looked just as decrepit on the outside as the original - making the interior that much more shocking. So we went in search of some old wood.
As fate would have it, Rick's friends were dismantling an old barn.
We took the whole wall and it was just enough....
But the weathered wood was poplar and WAY too pretty. So we gave up on the decrepit idea.
The roof would've made it too tall to fit in the parlor, so we had to disassemble it, cart it outside, and reassemble it in the back yard.
Putting all of the roof pieces together had to wait until the ceiling panel was done. We knew we wanted a mirror mosaic on the ceiling. I had a Rubbermaid tote in the yard full of pieces of mirror left over from some other projects.
I actually thought that we had enough to cover the entire ceiling, (my original plan) but fortunately I was wrong. We had just enough of the thick glass mirror to create a gorgeous mosaic moon and Rick's affinity for crystal (not Meth) meant stars for the deep blue background.
One of our plans was to make an outhouse that looked just as decrepit on the outside as the original - making the interior that much more shocking. So we went in search of some old wood.
As fate would have it, Rick's friends were dismantling an old barn.
We took the whole wall and it was just enough....
But the weathered wood was poplar and WAY too pretty. So we gave up on the decrepit idea.
The Grand Finale
All the pieces were cut, painted, stained, verithaned, numbered and everything else that was necessary.
It was time to disassemble it for the last time and load it up on the truck.
It took two trips. While Mike and Rick were putting it together for the third and last time, I took the truck back to the house to pick up all the exterior wood.
And, here is the final "out"come.
The tribal moon is a simplified version of some Scandanavian tattoo art.
Shall we take a peek inside?
The Dutch door was an absolute requirement. There's nothing like a potty with the fresh breeze of nature on your face.
The bench of the throne lifts up to reveal "the business end." The mosaic moon above is perfectly angled so as not to reveal that business end unless you're standing just outside the door. And if you're standing there, it's apparent that neither of you care about the reflection.
Should you decide to close the doors and chat privately with Betty, subtle lighting can be found by opening the window or pulling the delicate cords of the two severely modified, battery-operated stick-up bulb sconces.
All in all, it was quite an outrageous endeavor and we're very proud.
It was time to disassemble it for the last time and load it up on the truck.
It took two trips. While Mike and Rick were putting it together for the third and last time, I took the truck back to the house to pick up all the exterior wood.
And, here is the final "out"come.
The tribal moon is a simplified version of some Scandanavian tattoo art.Shall we take a peek inside?
The Dutch door was an absolute requirement. There's nothing like a potty with the fresh breeze of nature on your face.
The bench of the throne lifts up to reveal "the business end." The mosaic moon above is perfectly angled so as not to reveal that business end unless you're standing just outside the door. And if you're standing there, it's apparent that neither of you care about the reflection.
Should you decide to close the doors and chat privately with Betty, subtle lighting can be found by opening the window or pulling the delicate cords of the two severely modified, battery-operated stick-up bulb sconces.All in all, it was quite an outrageous endeavor and we're very proud.
But nobody knows....
One of the hardest parts of this project was keeping the secret from the girls.
Coming soon will be an account leading up to the discovery.
Coming soon will be an account leading up to the discovery.
Okay, so we did all this work - and the girls didn't know.
This entire endeavor was to be a surprise.
Oh how I agonized when we tipped their toilet. Is this thing that we're destroying priceless in terms of antiquity and folk art and inspiration? You know, Sarah is pretty artsy fartsy. (And a woman! Eek! Who knows HOW they'll react.) It was a difficult decision.
At one point we thought, okay, we'll just move this outhouse over there and put a "Hers" sign out front, and put the new one here with a "His" sign out front. Pure poetry.
Unfortunately 1) I'd already painted a moon on the new one (which is symbolic of the goddess and therefore, HERS. and 2) The old outhouse was just too freaking heavy! We could tip it, but that was IT!
Okay, the new one is in place and the old one is gone. Now let's sit back and wait for the screamy phone call.
A week passes.
Tap tap tap. (No that's not Senator Craig) It's us waiting for them to discover it.
Mike was all for calling them right up and saying "go out to your property!" Because it had been sitting in our parlor for quite a while. We're done with it, we want to reap the benefit of their reaction ! ! ! !
Funny story there....so I'll digress a bit....Tammy (whom we love dearly and never seem to see enough of and who doesn't answer her phone - and is 'one of the girls' I've been speaking of) called one day out of the blue!
Imagine my thrill and excitement when I saw her name on caller ID. "Chuckles," she said "I'll be in the area today, why don't the three of us go out to dinner?"
I was already expecting a house full of guests that evening, so I said "Why don't you come over here and join us?" and she agreed.
Click. (End of phone call)
F##k. (Sudden realization)
The outhouse was sitting plain as day in our parlor. CRAP! (No pun intented.) I can't move this. What to do what to do what to do?!
I covered it with a tarp and called the guys. "Tammy's coming over and here's the story" . . . we played off the big green tarp colored box in the parlor as a shed being built for Mike's mother. If she should ask why is it covered, we'll say it smells of some sort of sealant.
So she comes over...."What's that?"
"It's an eye sore" I said, in an exasperated way, as if I had nothing to do with that monstrosity. And that was that.
Until other people came over and began to ask, "Where's the privy?" We quickly shushed them and brought them up to speed.
Okay, crisis averted and the surprise is still intact.
But now that the project was done - and in place - and time had passed....
WE'RE GETTING A LITTLE ANTSY ! To say the least.
So, I mailed a clue to Sarah.
The 10-J-Q-K-A of hearts, glued together as one would hold a poker hand, was mailed in a plain envelope, with no return address, just the name "Bess Tudor."
Then we drove all the way to Falling Water, W.Va. to mail it.
And then settled down to wait for the screamy phone call.
It was painfully evident to us that they would get it right away.
Royal FLUSH,
FALLING WATER!
It was brilliant.
Tap tap tap tap tap tap. SIGH.
Oh how I agonized when we tipped their toilet. Is this thing that we're destroying priceless in terms of antiquity and folk art and inspiration? You know, Sarah is pretty artsy fartsy. (And a woman! Eek! Who knows HOW they'll react.) It was a difficult decision.
At one point we thought, okay, we'll just move this outhouse over there and put a "Hers" sign out front, and put the new one here with a "His" sign out front. Pure poetry.
Unfortunately 1) I'd already painted a moon on the new one (which is symbolic of the goddess and therefore, HERS. and 2) The old outhouse was just too freaking heavy! We could tip it, but that was IT!
Okay, the new one is in place and the old one is gone. Now let's sit back and wait for the screamy phone call.
A week passes.
Tap tap tap. (No that's not Senator Craig) It's us waiting for them to discover it.
Mike was all for calling them right up and saying "go out to your property!" Because it had been sitting in our parlor for quite a while. We're done with it, we want to reap the benefit of their reaction ! ! ! !
Funny story there....so I'll digress a bit....Tammy (whom we love dearly and never seem to see enough of and who doesn't answer her phone - and is 'one of the girls' I've been speaking of) called one day out of the blue!
Imagine my thrill and excitement when I saw her name on caller ID. "Chuckles," she said "I'll be in the area today, why don't the three of us go out to dinner?"
I was already expecting a house full of guests that evening, so I said "Why don't you come over here and join us?" and she agreed.
Click. (End of phone call)
F##k. (Sudden realization)
The outhouse was sitting plain as day in our parlor. CRAP! (No pun intented.) I can't move this. What to do what to do what to do?!
I covered it with a tarp and called the guys. "Tammy's coming over and here's the story" . . . we played off the big green tarp colored box in the parlor as a shed being built for Mike's mother. If she should ask why is it covered, we'll say it smells of some sort of sealant.
So she comes over...."What's that?"
"It's an eye sore" I said, in an exasperated way, as if I had nothing to do with that monstrosity. And that was that.
Until other people came over and began to ask, "Where's the privy?" We quickly shushed them and brought them up to speed.
Okay, crisis averted and the surprise is still intact.
But now that the project was done - and in place - and time had passed....
WE'RE GETTING A LITTLE ANTSY ! To say the least.
So, I mailed a clue to Sarah.
The 10-J-Q-K-A of hearts, glued together as one would hold a poker hand, was mailed in a plain envelope, with no return address, just the name "Bess Tudor."
Then we drove all the way to Falling Water, W.Va. to mail it.
And then settled down to wait for the screamy phone call.
It was painfully evident to us that they would get it right away.
Royal FLUSH,
FALLING WATER!
It was brilliant.
Tap tap tap tap tap tap. SIGH.
Stalker - Walker? Not a far cry.
In her own words...SS says...
For me it started with the arrival of mystery mail. A royal flush poker hand, in an envelope from Bess Tudor... perplexed, thought about a stalker... was someone in love with me? Who could I ask?...I said nothing for about a week.
SO SS WRITES AN E-MAIL TO OUR GROUP ONE DAY...
I got something interesting and unexpected in the mail.
An envelope addressed to me with a return name, but no address. It is from someone named Bess Tudor, anyone heard of her?
No note, just 5 playing cards pased together to form a royal flush - hearts.... It is post marked in Martinsburg WV.... any thought now?
Let me know what you think, I cannot imagine who it is from.
SS
OF COURSE WE HAD TO PLAY DUMB ! HERE'S MY RESPONSE...
Hey! I'm in Martinsburg, and T's got family here.
I Googled Bess Tudor Martinsburg and got no hits.
Googling just "Bess Tudor" gets me a bunch of flatware and a Karen Harper mystery series.
I'll check the phone book. Could it be a letterboxer whose real name you didn't know?
A royal flush... What's the card brand?
And what's pased? Is that like a collage or decopage (sp)?
What's the zip code...that should tell you what area of M'burg. Oh wait, no address, but does a postmark have a zip code on it?
Addressed to your work name or home name? Work name would show a connection to the artworld.
Cursive? Print? Typeface? Any indicators? Calligraphy pen, font, color?
AND SHE REPLIES
My money is still on you for the card thing... you're the most creative and stalker like.... no brand on the cards, red backs, but nothing unusual, zip 25404, mailed Aug 20,,, My name is just the home name, I was sort of freaked out at first, but now I just don't know. Perhaps I will turn it into a collage or art...
STILL PLAYING STUPID
Okay, I'll try to help you figure it out.
>you're the most creative
I won't tell Rick you said that.
> and stalker like....
Hey! Wait a minute.
>zip 25404,
I did a Mapquest, but 25404 just comes up as Martinsburg. I'm sure there's some sort of district like search I could do.
>mailed Aug 20,,,
Monday. No clue there.
>My name is just the home name,
Okay- so it's not artworld connected. Probably.
Hmmm. I don't know. Is there no other hint?
THEY STILL DON'T GET IT...
SS- Well, we can anagram Bess Tudor into Brest Duos..... are you trying to tell me something?
CHUCK- Although I have found that the train people call me "Boob Man," I refrain from making reference to your boobies in polite conversation. . . (Boobies.)
SS- Which is precisely why I suspect it's you.... anagrammed, and mailed to my home.....
CHUCK- I feel maligned. If I wanted to accentuate your attributes...I'm sure I could think of something more fun (and spelled better) than that. You only think it's me 'cause it's from Martinsburg.
It could be letterbox related, but I can't think of anything specific to connect it to.
Charles Town gambling? But I don't think they have card tables. (I've never been.)
And then, why would it be sent to you? Is there anything card-related near you?
Is there any other connection that can be made? You know you better than me.
SS- Well not entirely true, I do not think of you ONLY because of Martinsburg....
1. You are one of the most creative people I know
2. The handwriting looks suspiciously like it could be yours, we are waiting on comparisons from the lab now.
3. You love a mystery/game/joke better than the next guy
4. You have had a little time on your hands between work and class
5. Fingerprints are hard to get off playing cards, and I suspect you knew this already.
6. Its clever, that's you in spades (well these are hearts...)
7. You live in Martinsburg
Don't feel maligned, feel honored that out of all the people I know, it is your smiling face and warm hands that I think of first when I think "Stalker?"
Kisses- SS
CHUCK- Thank you for saying such kind things. It's really breaking the monotony of writing an anotated bibliography. (I don't know HOW I thought I'd be able to work another job AND go to school.)
Hmmm, is it a man's handwriting? You never answered those questions, you know, calligraphy? ink color? etc.
OH! You said warm hands. That is a HAND of cards. Does that mean anything?
SS- A Heart in a hand is an international friendship symbol... not usually
like this but it works.... now if only I knew a Bess...
Black ink, nothing fancy, block letters, all caps, does look more
masculine....
IT'S APPARENT TO US THAT THEY'RE NOT GOING TO GET IT. AND DANG IT! WE DROVE ALL THE WAY TO FALLING WATER SO IT WOULD HAVE A FALLING WATER POSTMARK ! THAT MARTINSBURG POSTMARK INSTANTLY PUT THEM ON OUR TAIL.
TIME TO SEND THE SECOND AND THIRD CLUES.
Clues Two and Three
So, we were sitting around drinking one night about a week or so after they'd received the first clue.
The hardest part about this entire endeavor was NOT TELLING THE GIRLS OUTRIGHT WHAT WE'D DONE.
We thought the impact would be greater if they simply discovered there's a new house.
And speaking of that, Rick came up with the perfect return address name...
There's a new house
Theresa Newhaus
BRILLIANT !
I came up with 100 Acre Woods (a literary reference) - that's where Pooh lives.
147 is an inside joke.
The picture of the fish is a crappie.
The row of houses, one of which has a rainbow flag - means that's the "Out" house.
And we all laughed and joked and came up with the other scatological references.
Honey Pot is, in some circles, a chamber pot.
Sphincter Pass - DUH, Turtlehead - EW !
Ahhh, good times. We thought these BLATANT clues would for certain this push them over to sudden revelation.
WE MAILED THEM OFF AND WAITED AND WAITED AND WAITED. NO RESPONSE. I BEGAN TO WORRY THAT I DIDN'T PUT A STAMP ON THE ENVELOPES AND MIKE SAID "WELL THEY'D BE RETURNED BY THE POSTAL SERVICE, THEN." TO WHICH I REPLIED, "YEAH, TO THERESA NEWHAUS AND HONEY POTT."
OH YEAH.
SO WE DIDN'T GET A RESPONSE, WHAT WERE THEY DOING? THIS IS WHAT T SAYS...
Frankly I was stumped. A little Googling helped me discover that Bess Tudor was Elizabeth and I understood that the cards were a royal straight flush. But again those 2 pieces of info did not trigger anything in my noggin.
The next 2 mailings, the house with the rainbow flag and the fish card didn't create any ah ha moments either.
However we did plan a response. S and I ravaged K's card and craft collection one girlie night and started making up random cryptic responses. We thought perhaps these were clues to a letterbox so we started making up clues to non-existent letterboxes and basically mocking your mailings.
I do have one horrible moment that I find humbling:
Last week I was working on making up return addresses for the mystery mail we planned on sending you. I, like you, decided to find humorous town names and use the real state and zip code. One of the ones I came up with was:
Theresa Echoinere
2 Many Hardrides
Deep Gap NC 28618
I thought I was so clever because Theresa also spells out "There's a."
I think I stole this from your card. But I didn't do it consciously, I thought I figured it out on my own and was patting myself on the back.
It never occurred to me that I had seen the same word used in the same way on your mail. Can anyone say dipshit!
OKAY, SO NOW THE GIRLS ARE PLOTTING AGAINST US, BUT WE'RE SITTING IN RELATIVE (BUT FITFUL) SILENCE WAITING FOR THEM TO E-MAIL US THAT THEY GOT MORE CLUES! NOTHING! HOW FRUSTRATING.
WE (THE BOYS) FOUGHT AMONGST OURSELVES, VICIOUS ALCOHOL INDUCED SLAPFIGHTS, CONSIDERED DRUNK-DIALING, AND FINALLY DECIDED TO SEND JUST ONE MORE CLUE.
THIS TIME IT WAS RICK'S BABY.
The Final Clue
Like I said this was Rick's baby.
He thought this was PAINFULLY obvious.
DON'T PEEK !
If you know what it is . . .
publish a comment (by clicking on comments below) and tell us what you thought it meant.
Be honest, because when you click on "comments" you'll see other people's guesses too.
If you got it right, I'll drink a pint of beer in your name.
COMING SOON, DRUNK DIALING AND THE REVEAL...
Drunk Dialing
We sat around and waited and waited and waited for the girls to figure it out - and they never did.
One evening during our interminable wait, we guys were sitting on the porch, drinking wine and venting our impatience.
We talked about drunk dialing the girls. Emphasizing the sloppy speech of the drunk, we'd tell them to go visit the property and be mysterious, vague and giggle a lot.
Well we joked about it, but we weren't really going to do it.
But then....the next night, I'd already gone to bed and Mike was drinking without a chaperone and we have e-mail at home, so...
He sent a note to S.
S,
I hope you are wonderful, as I always thought you were!
I've had a bit to drink this evening and had a wonderful Roger Waters night of it.
Please don't share this email with anyone, Rick and Chuck would be so disappointed in me.
GO OUT TO YOUR PROPERTY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
There's a little present there from the three of us. (Yes, this has to do with the odd clues you've been getting in the mail.
I hope you haven't called the police - that's really not necessary.)
You're best friend from afar. (We only see each other every six months or so - I hate that.)
Ooh and awe if you must,
Mike
P.S. We have pictures!!!!!!!!
So neither Rick nor I knew this little communique had occurred.
The next day - Rick called, he'd finished the bejeweled spoon for the cast iron urn. (When you use the outhouse, you should ladle a spoonful of hydrated lime into the hole to help speed the decaying process and prevent odor.) He was now looking for hydrated lime. We're chatting on the phone and I stepped outside to include Mike in the conversation (he was working on the patio) and Mike revealed his terrible secret.
"I sent S. a note last night."
! ! ! ! ! !
Phone in hand I sped to the computer to see exactly what Mike'd written and read it aloud to Rick. Rick sped right over and we had a little three-way consultation.
First of all ... I was tickled pink not to be the first to 'crack.'
YAY ! Mike crumbled, not me.
So we called S. I was torn. Tell her? Don't tell her?
I told her that Mike had been drinking and sent an e-mail and we were toying with the idea of asking her not to read it and she immediately said "Okay!"
But I couldn't let the reveal go for another stretch of time, so I just read the e-mail to her. (She wouldn't have seen the e-mail until she went to work, so why wait?)
And we asked if she had time to meet us at the property that day - she did - and would meet us in 75 minutes.
We immediately launched into action.
Rick jumped in the car and sped to Wal-Mart, K-Mart and Martins for gift wrapping items and elegant lunch items.
I ran around the house collecting champagne glasses, wicker basket, picture book of the outhouse project, scissors, tape, cheese tray, knife, etc.
Mike and I jumped in the Jeep, met Rick at the grocery store and helped find a few quick items.
All of us are now in the Jeep. I'm driving, Rick is wrapping, Mike is passing wrapping items up from the back seat (and complaining about my wreckless speed).
I admit I was driving a bit fast, but we needed to get there first and set the atmosphere.
One evening during our interminable wait, we guys were sitting on the porch, drinking wine and venting our impatience.
We talked about drunk dialing the girls. Emphasizing the sloppy speech of the drunk, we'd tell them to go visit the property and be mysterious, vague and giggle a lot.
Well we joked about it, but we weren't really going to do it.
But then....the next night, I'd already gone to bed and Mike was drinking without a chaperone and we have e-mail at home, so...
He sent a note to S.
S,
I hope you are wonderful, as I always thought you were!
I've had a bit to drink this evening and had a wonderful Roger Waters night of it.
Please don't share this email with anyone, Rick and Chuck would be so disappointed in me.
GO OUT TO YOUR PROPERTY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
There's a little present there from the three of us. (Yes, this has to do with the odd clues you've been getting in the mail.
I hope you haven't called the police - that's really not necessary.)
You're best friend from afar. (We only see each other every six months or so - I hate that.)
Ooh and awe if you must,
Mike
P.S. We have pictures!!!!!!!!
So neither Rick nor I knew this little communique had occurred.
The next day - Rick called, he'd finished the bejeweled spoon for the cast iron urn. (When you use the outhouse, you should ladle a spoonful of hydrated lime into the hole to help speed the decaying process and prevent odor.) He was now looking for hydrated lime. We're chatting on the phone and I stepped outside to include Mike in the conversation (he was working on the patio) and Mike revealed his terrible secret.
"I sent S. a note last night."
! ! ! ! ! !
Phone in hand I sped to the computer to see exactly what Mike'd written and read it aloud to Rick. Rick sped right over and we had a little three-way consultation.
First of all ... I was tickled pink not to be the first to 'crack.'
YAY ! Mike crumbled, not me.
So we called S. I was torn. Tell her? Don't tell her?
I told her that Mike had been drinking and sent an e-mail and we were toying with the idea of asking her not to read it and she immediately said "Okay!"
But I couldn't let the reveal go for another stretch of time, so I just read the e-mail to her. (She wouldn't have seen the e-mail until she went to work, so why wait?)
And we asked if she had time to meet us at the property that day - she did - and would meet us in 75 minutes.
We immediately launched into action.
Rick jumped in the car and sped to Wal-Mart, K-Mart and Martins for gift wrapping items and elegant lunch items.
I ran around the house collecting champagne glasses, wicker basket, picture book of the outhouse project, scissors, tape, cheese tray, knife, etc.
Mike and I jumped in the Jeep, met Rick at the grocery store and helped find a few quick items.
All of us are now in the Jeep. I'm driving, Rick is wrapping, Mike is passing wrapping items up from the back seat (and complaining about my wreckless speed).
I admit I was driving a bit fast, but we needed to get there first and set the atmosphere.
Oh, My, God.
So we arrived - (and at last we have arrived at this final post) -
We only had minutes to spare before S was to arrive and we scrambled into action.
Two started unloading the stuff, while another ran to work the combination lock on the shed.
The combination lock refused to cooperate. We'd been here multiple times before and every time the lock functioned fine. NOW - while we're under a time constraint - it refuses to work.
"Let me try"
"I did that"
"Are you sure it's . . ."
"Let me try"
"Give me that"
Through the trees we hear the sound of an approaching car and we made a command decision.
BREAK THAT SUCKER ! ! ! ! (Turns out it wasn't her.)
We broke the lock, one scrambled to unlock the outhouse while the second zipped into the shed for the table.
Set up was almost instantaneous.... cheese, strawberries, caviar, champagne, ice bucket, crackers, whipped butter, table, chairs, gift bag.
All positioned between car and outhouse so S's approach would not see us until she was upon us.
Then she did arrive and parked at the head of the 'driveway' as we all alit and posed, casually, as if no effort were involved in this frantic undertaking.
"OOP! We should've closed the door to the shed."
So Mike stood, and edged blatantly and surrepticiously (Ala the Prince in Monty Python's Holy Grail movie) closed the door and sat back down.
As S neared the car, she spotted the outhouse.
She paused. She covered her mouth. And she said the three words which she would repeat for the next 20 minutes.
As if she were a scratched record on a random repeat.
"Oh, my, God."
"WAIT TILL YOU SEE INSIDE!" Blabbed Mike.
"MIKE ! SHH!" Rick and I chorused.
So she did look inside.
She approached the door (all of us gathered near) and simply gazed and said, "Oh, my, God."
I positioned myself to see her face as she opened it.
Rick twisted at the champagne cork. (And had a little premature release.)
Then she opened the door and gazed and said, "Oh, my, God."
Then her knees went week. And we thought she was going to pee, right there, steps from where it would have been more appropriate.
"Oh, my, God."
For minutes, she was constantly discovering and admiring something new.
Some detail, some big thing, she'd touch and "Oh, my, God."
She'd point and "Oh, my, God."
She'd sit and say "Oh, my, God."
Then start the process again. Touch, point, caress. "Oh, my, God. Oh, my, God. Oh, my, God."
Then she DID pee. But at that point, she was in the perfect spot with the door closed and us outside yelling "WE'RE NOT LISTENING!"
Finally, she joined us at the table and dabbed at her eyes and put her hand to her chest and breathed (the first breath in five minutes) and began her first new words of fragmented, incomplete sentences.
"It's simply . . .I can't believe . . . OH MY GAWD!" Then she ran for her camera.
Eventually, she settled and had noshes with us and we gave her the picture book that documented the creation of the outhouse.
And we sat and chatted and laughed and cried . . . cleaned up and parted ways.
Heavy, but satisfying Sigh of it finally being done and over.
And a hugely gratifying reaction to an uqually hugely outrageous, and impractical project.
It is finished.
We only had minutes to spare before S was to arrive and we scrambled into action.
Two started unloading the stuff, while another ran to work the combination lock on the shed.
The combination lock refused to cooperate. We'd been here multiple times before and every time the lock functioned fine. NOW - while we're under a time constraint - it refuses to work.
"Let me try"
"I did that"
"Are you sure it's . . ."
"Let me try"
"Give me that"
Through the trees we hear the sound of an approaching car and we made a command decision.
BREAK THAT SUCKER ! ! ! ! (Turns out it wasn't her.)
We broke the lock, one scrambled to unlock the outhouse while the second zipped into the shed for the table.
Set up was almost instantaneous.... cheese, strawberries, caviar, champagne, ice bucket, crackers, whipped butter, table, chairs, gift bag.
All positioned between car and outhouse so S's approach would not see us until she was upon us.
Then she did arrive and parked at the head of the 'driveway' as we all alit and posed, casually, as if no effort were involved in this frantic undertaking.
"OOP! We should've closed the door to the shed."
So Mike stood, and edged blatantly and surrepticiously (Ala the Prince in Monty Python's Holy Grail movie) closed the door and sat back down.
As S neared the car, she spotted the outhouse.
She paused. She covered her mouth. And she said the three words which she would repeat for the next 20 minutes.
As if she were a scratched record on a random repeat.
"Oh, my, God."
"WAIT TILL YOU SEE INSIDE!" Blabbed Mike.
"MIKE ! SHH!" Rick and I chorused.
So she did look inside.
She approached the door (all of us gathered near) and simply gazed and said, "Oh, my, God."
I positioned myself to see her face as she opened it.
Rick twisted at the champagne cork. (And had a little premature release.)
Then she opened the door and gazed and said, "Oh, my, God."
Then her knees went week. And we thought she was going to pee, right there, steps from where it would have been more appropriate.
"Oh, my, God."
For minutes, she was constantly discovering and admiring something new.
Some detail, some big thing, she'd touch and "Oh, my, God."
She'd point and "Oh, my, God."
She'd sit and say "Oh, my, God."
Then start the process again. Touch, point, caress. "Oh, my, God. Oh, my, God. Oh, my, God."
Then she DID pee. But at that point, she was in the perfect spot with the door closed and us outside yelling "WE'RE NOT LISTENING!"
Finally, she joined us at the table and dabbed at her eyes and put her hand to her chest and breathed (the first breath in five minutes) and began her first new words of fragmented, incomplete sentences.
"It's simply . . .I can't believe . . . OH MY GAWD!" Then she ran for her camera.
Eventually, she settled and had noshes with us and we gave her the picture book that documented the creation of the outhouse.
And we sat and chatted and laughed and cried . . . cleaned up and parted ways.
Heavy, but satisfying Sigh of it finally being done and over.
And a hugely gratifying reaction to an uqually hugely outrageous, and impractical project.
It is finished.
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