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My father would be laughing at me and my bruised hands, but I think he'd be proud.

I am the son of a carpenter, who was the son of a carpenter. I am not, however, a carpenter. But, despite my not carrying on the family occupation, for the last two days (from sunup to sundown) I have been helping my good friend Brian work on a project involving carpentry.

We built a deck.

It was man against lumber (and often nature). Planks had to be leveled, joists had to be placed and fitted, and scores of nails had to be hammered. Cutting 4x4 beams with a Milwaukee Sawzall was like trying to wrestle an aggravated mustang. The finishing nails we had didn't often care to stay straight, but pound them in we did.

We have called it a night for now. I have band functions to attend to tomorrow, so I will likely not be a participant in the finishing of the structure now jutting from the rear of the house I am currently sitting in, typing.

I am sunburnt, dirty, and tired, but I feel ok.