The Project

Have you ever started a project that haunted you, something that turned into a prolonged nightmare?  If you have, you will probably laugh as much as I did over this recent Craigslist ad:

Free twelve-foot-long Banshee sailboat hull. Hull is in poor condition with fading paint, holes below the waterline, and missing transom. Was purchased as a project two years ago and has been sitting in my backyard ever since, leaving a blighted boat-shaped patch where no grass will ever grow again. I am moving out and need it gone soon. Would make a fun summer project, or a unique planter/ yard decoration. Or use it for target practice for small arms fire. Honestly, I don't care what you do with it. Fill it up with water and make it a jacuzzi. Set it on fire. If nobody responds, I'm going to take the foam out, open all the hatch covers, tow it several miles out into the Atlantic, and let Poseidon reclaim his rightful property. Would also make a nice artificial reef.

Note the tone of this ad, which swings from realism to desperation to a muted acknowledgement that there might yet be something alive that would appreciate this item, even if that something is barnacle.

I have never invited anyone to set my home project on fire, but I have sometimes experienced profound frustration.  The worst part about projects is that you really have no one to blame but yourself.  What exactly was I thinking, painting the living room baby blue?  Why do I still have rolls of Looney Tunes borders for the boys' room, when my boys are 10 and 12?  And outdoors-- don't get me started on outdoors.  Just today I was asking myself, how did that vine, the one that has no apparent connection to the ground, grow above the window and into the rain gutter?

Working all week, we are not home enough, so there is always a lot to do around our small farm on the weekends.  Sometimes we get overwhelmed.  However, each morning on my way to work I pass a cemetery, and I remind myself of one important thing:  Those people don't have a to-do list.