Summertime Pleasure: Some Assembly Required

Oooo Hooo – I got a tax refund this year. Not large enough to affect my retirement savings strategy, but big enough to underwrite some type of indulgence.

I decided to buy a gas grill for my back deck. I looked at different models online for ideas and asked friends, who are committed grillers, to weigh in on features and brands to check out.

I was tickled by the thought: a summertime of pleasure and a smoke-free kitchen. I also ‘fessed up to the personal attraction of warm weather dinners featuring a lime wedge topped gin and tonic and red meat.

I realized there was a nostalgic component to this yearning.

When I grew up, dinners usually consisted of some type of steak, a block of iceberg lettuce, and some flavor packet enhanced Birds Eye frozen vegetable medley. (That’s what Birds Eye called mixed vegetables.)

But Sunday dinners during the summer often saw my father drag our Weber charcoal kettle to a corner of our back yard that our family beagle hadn’t turned into his toilet. He used too much lighter fluid, but I looked forward to these meals.

Wearing Bermuda shorts and a Ban-Lon shirt (a synthetic knit which I think was invented to maximize the odor created by sweat), Buddha-bellied with surprisingly skinny legs, he seemed so happy wielding his barbecue tools; extra long spatula, two tined fork and tongs.

I visited the nearest Home Depot on Monday of last week and checked out the model that had been recommended to me. (Because it would be set up on a wooden deck instead of a cement patio, it had to be a gas grill).

But I couldn’t bring the grill home myself. Even if I contracted HD for delivery, they would only bring the box to the street level, front entrance of my building. I couldn’t navigate the huge box up the winding back stairs myself. I couldn’t imagine suffering through the assembly instructions solo.

Ah, a girl (of any age) needs a guy sometimes – to help lug the heavy things upstairs and to rotate the assembly diagram until the orientation pictured matches the way you’ve sprawled out the parts.

I fought the idea, but I asked my ex. I don’t want to depend on his help, and I don’t want him to feel taken advantage of.

But I asked and he agreed. We overcame the issue of the Spirit 210 box not fitting into my car (we took it apart in the Home Deport Parking lot and put the components and hardware in my backseat and trunk), a rubber washer cover rolling off the deck, and even the fact that the project took 30% longer than anticipated.

Nothing went extremely wrong, but not everything was easy. There were several moments when we could have started being less than kind to each other. But no blood was shed. No voices were raised.

By 4:00 in the afternoon, the grill was assembled and situated on the southeast corner of my second floor back deck. I heated up a frozen flatbread to snack on while he figured out how to use my limited set of screwdrivers to tighten all the screws and bolts that were provided. We listened to the ballgame on the radio.

The finished product delighted me. I was very appreciative of John’s help with the heavy lifting and assembly, and even for the short tutorial on turning on and off the gas.

I was also oddly happy with myself. It’s so easy when a relationship doesn’t turn out the way you expect or hope it would, to be disappointed, to rush to blame. But I figure that once you love someone, you love him – even if you can’t live together happily ever after.

When I decided to move out, it was important to me that we continued to be civil. I wanted both of us to feel okay about asking each other for help, or to feel free about swapping recommendations on new restaurants in the neighborhood.

We lead very separate lives, but I think both of us continue hold each other in regard.

Being able to grill a blue cheese burger only steps away from your dining table is great. Having a long-term perspective on relationships is no small thing.

 

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