Today's obsession: finding the driveway.
That sounds like I don't know where my own driveway is, like maybe it got tired (no pun intended) of its boring existence and decided to get up and leave. I assure you, that's not the case. What I mean is...why can't I tell a simple story without it becoming a longer story? What the heck? Anyway-
When my husband's great grandfather built this house, he put in a flagstone driveway (which might not be the correct term, I don't know, he laid down a bunch of big, flat rocks in a driveway-shaped formation and parked on them). This was ages ago, possibly in the early 60's, although I would have to double check that with someone who like...actually knows. It was a long time ago. Since then, the rocks have gotten almost entirely covered by the dust and dirt that drift around and then grass started growing in that dirt and by the time we moved in, the only bit of the rocks that were visible was the very middle of the driveway (yes, I know my grammar is appalling). So last fall, I started poking around out there to see just how long the original driveway was, and I unearthed a few rocks, but the size of the project deterred me from really doing any more at the time.
I didn't wake up today thinking, "Gosh, I'd sure like to do a bunch of digging", but when I took my son out to play this afternoon, I started itching to do something to improve the yard. And right in front of me was this partially uncovered driveway, so I grabbed a shovel and got to work.
The dang thing is bigger than I thought, both longer and wider. Parts of it only had a thin layer of dust, while other parts were (and are) buried anywhere from half an inch to three or four inches deep. I couldn't get it all done today, but not for lack of trying...I was out there digging and scraping away dirt and grass every chance I had. It was like I couldn't NOT do it, after seeing those first few rocks uncovered. Now I have blistered hands and a sore back that will feel worse in the morning, and I'll still go out and work on it bright and early because it's like I found this hidden treasure. It's completely worthless, really....just a bunch of old rocks, who cares?
But then...I dunno. I can imagine how long it took my husband's great grandfather to find all the rocks, to move them all, to select which ones to use and figure out exactly how to arrange them...I can imagine how he felt when it was finished. I just think all that careful, hard work shouldn't be forgotten.
I feel like I care about weird stuff.