Broken things
byI was a cheap bastard, even when I made a living wage. This won’t surprise any of the coworkers from my careers in marketing…
d.i.y.
Just a-Swingin’
byThere are miserable things about living in the South. I’m not talking about racism and poverty, which are everywhere. (I’ve got a couple of…
Pea Shell, My Belle
byI’ve repaired Adirondack chairs that were rotting and turned shipping pallets into adorable porch swings. But for my money (or lack thereof), peapod wine is the ultimate trash-to-treasure. We literally are turning shells that were bound to be thrown in with hog slop into quite drinkable table wine.
Hard: Wood Floors
byIt takes a lot to make this grown man cry. When our party of five watched the (Mister) Fred Rogers documentary “Won’t You Be…
Jenn-yard
byEighty-seven pictures of medallions, set in stone, hammered in metal, or painted in fresco. It didn’t matter if they were on the streets of…
Knock on Wood
byIf there were any questions about my latent adolescence, they’ve been pounded away with the mallet I’ve been using to install hardwood flooring. Whatever…
Sound ’vision
by“Throw away your television.” That’s what everyone’s telling me. And by everyone, I mean Jenn. And Chuck Klosterman.1 And the Red Hot Chili Peppers and…
Upward Dog
byMaybe a dozen years ago, we were sipping some beers at a wedding reception in Montgomery. It was a good vibe, with a live…
In a nutshell
byUp the road a few miles from work, there’s a big swath of state land, abutting the Chattahoochee River. Jenn and I took a…