It may only appear that this post got misplaced from one of those home-improvement blogs. That’s right, kids, the Bittersweet Girl did home improvements! I spent the weekend drenched in sweat, covered in dirt and sawdust, bruises and mosquito bites … but, boy, do I have something to show for it.

Some background: The front steps of my house were built out of railroad ties — which must have seemed like a good idea at some point in the distant past. But, over time, the steps had begun to rot and collapse. Not to mention, they were narrow, uneven, slippery when wet, and the handrail was broken. In other words, they were incredibly dangerous. Both myself and my partner, The Golden Boy, had fallen down the steps several times, with injuries to prove it. We always had to warn guests to be extremely careful as they entered and left our house — not the best impression to make.

Really, these were our stairs

Clearly, we needed new front steps but, as you homeowners know, something as simple as new steps is bound to be extremely costly and, frankly, we had too many other — more urgent — house expenses to worry about.

Enter my father, handy-man/carpenter/jack of all trades. My dad can fix or build just about anything and he volunteered to rebuild our steps for us. Even though he’s not as young as he once was, my dad has an incredible, truly awe-inspiring stamina and just cannot stop himself from taking on another project. He’s one of a particular generation of men who have a great deal of practical fix-it knowledge, who tinkered with cars and gadgets as kids, who put all their knowledge to work on their own homes, and cannot imagine hiring someone else to do what they could do themselves. (Jo(e)’s dad sounds like a similar type.)

Neither Golden Boy nor myself are skilled in the house-repair arena but we were as helpful as we could be, which generally consisted of standing around and watching my dad do all of the work. Actually, we did our fair share because there was a lot of “unskilled” labor involved: deconstructing the old stairs, drilling, holding things, handing things to my dad, bringing him glasses of cold water.

Stairs, deconstructed.

Did I mention it was hot? It was so incredibly hot.

One of my friends quipped that we had found an unusual way of celebrating Father’s Day, by making my dad do manual labor in the sweltering summer sun. In a way, though, it was a wonderful father/daughter experience — we spent three days together, working closely, laughing at each others’ mistakes, encouraging each other … and we never lost our tempers. Golden Boy did some cursing at a tricky screwdriver, but otherwise it was a harmonious if exhausting time.

And, look at the result. Can you believe I helped to build these stairs?

The (Almost) Finished Project. Please note the stone wall in the background, built entirely by GB and myself.

Golden Boy and I keep looking outside the window to see if the stairs are still there, like they might magically walk away — probably to another, nicer house where they would be more at home. But, no, they’re settling into their new role as the critical link between us and the outside world.