This is a title. It is not a placeholder. Really.

Fair warning: I've been staring at a blank post window for a good ten minutes here. I don't know where this is going, how it's going to get there, or what it's going to do once it arrives, but I figure typing something is better than nothing. It may turn out to be a pure stream-of-consciousness post, or it may have a readily discernable narrative arc. (My money's not exactly on the latter, if you're looking to place a bet. Take the over on the nonsense, double up, and let it ride.) I'm really just typing, and hoping the end result is something like a blog post.

And no, in case you were wondering, this approach doesn't seem to produce worthwhile results at work. I'm hoping the acceptance criteria are significantly more lax in this medium.

If none of the above made any sense, then good. We're all on the same page. Shall we get on with it?

When last we saw our weary, dwindling heroes, we had finished refilling most of the patio hole with roughly 8 yards (or so) of gravel and sand. After, of course, we had taken out 10 yards (or so) of dirt, rocks, and miscellaneous crap.

Oh, hey, while we're at it (we're not, but stream of consciousness, remember), how about a hand for the War Department's green thumb? This particular corner of our garden has four rhododendrons in it that haven't bloomed since the day we moved in. This year, thanks to her tender ministrations and ceaseless garden-based puttering, all four of them have absolutely exploded:

Anyway, back to the patio. The next step was to ... do ... something. Man, I seriously don't remember the order in which we did stuff. I know we had the Tireless Duo return and help us (both days) and that the War Department did a bazillion little things around the house and yard while I putzed about with the stones, but I can't for the life of me remember how it all went down. All I can see are those damn pavers and the never-ending turning, tamping, testing, cutting, and smoothing. Maybe just some pictures then?

Here's more or less where I left off at the end of the day on Saturday:

I know it doesn't look like much, but... yeah, it wasn't. It was bloody hot, though, hence the umbrella. Anyway, here's after a couple more hours most of the day on Sunday:

It was slow. And hard. And monotonous.**

Part of the problem - a HUGE part - was the pattern we picked. Mostly because there wasn't one. It was supposed to be random, but at the same time, we had an equal number of each of the three sizes of stone. This meant that I needed to use roughly the same number of stones as I went, or I was going to run out of one size before the others, making it look weird. (This KIND of happened anyway, but it turned out okay.) Of course, this made it difficult for people to help, as I had to put three equal mini piles within reach, use them all up before getting more stones, and, of course, cutting down the ones around the edges to fit against the soldier course (made up of all square stones of a different color). Oh, and to cut the stones, I had to lug them around the house to the saw station in the driveway.

Hey, guess what? It turns out that we picked an advanced style and design of patio for our very first attempt! Go us!

The down side is that it took FOREVER. Boo us! More pictures of our poor, ruined lawn!

Just for fun, this was exactly (to the DAY) two years ago:

To cut a long sob story short, I finally got the last of the pavers in (with help from Mr. Tireless Duo, who did the marking and fitting, The Crazy Neighbour who carried, toted, and entertained, and the War Department, who carried and planned and kept us all going, and with me cutting in the driveway), and then we broadcast jointing sand over the whole thing and compacted it all down with the plate compactor.

Putting in the very last brick before sanding:

We finished up about 8:00 (yes, EIGHT) on Sunday evening. Here's the War Department enjoying the first of what I hope will be a great many beers on our freshly sanded patio.

And now... well, now I'm exhausted. Utterly bushed. Let me put it this way: if I had known laying those damn stones was going to be that hard, I wouldn't have done it the weekend before Bike To Work Week. I've got four straight days of cycling to go, and my legs are already threatening to secede from my bodily nation after the first day. It's going to take a full week of trade summits with my quads and hammies, and some serious sweet talking of my ankles to get them back on my side. Oh, and apparently, if that last sentence is any indication, I may or may not be delirious now as well. 
Great.
 
I'm going bed. To bed.
 
Sigh.







** That's for Cassandra.