Friday, December 10, 2010


I wanted a quaint brick paver porch on my 1920 Southern house.  A brick porch would fit the white plaster, green/black shutters, widow's walk and stately columns.

So, I ordered the bricks.

And they came.  On multiple palettes delivered just at the edge of my yard...what seemed like miles away from where they were going to be laid.

Not only would I lay them one by one, I would more than likely move them that way.

To the handy dandy brick hauler.

Kind.  Thoughtful.  Caring.  Genius.

One 8 year old boy, one bicycle, one rope, and one pizza box.

He loaded as many bricks as he could...coming to this number by trial and error, and delivered to the front porch a load of bricks for me to lay.  Each time he announced his arrival with, "handy dandy brick hauler!"

Together, he and I made short time of a daunting task.

Today, the slightly imperfect porch at 104 Barkley still exists.  And I was right.  It did enhance the feel of the home.

And my grandmother was right.

You can tell the character of a man by the way he treats his mother.

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