Hereís the deal. Jan takes one week off a year and flies to Aruba with a friend. But, she wonít leave the house unless Mark agrees to stay home and provide loving care for all the animals. Works for Jan, sort of works for Mark, but it really worked for me. That week I had two deck support beams to replace at Applewood, the condominium complex up the street, and Mark offered to help.

These 6 x 8 fir timbers were long and impossibly heavy. The shorter of the two – at fourteen feet – was intended to replace its rotted brethren atop two 6 x 6 posts, under the second floor deck. The previous day, using my trusty six ton Sears jack, Iíd raised the second floor deck about an inch, and hammered a dozen temporary supports underneath. Why so many?

Two winters ago Iíd come perilously close to dropping an entire porch roof on my head, and I wanted to be sure that this time I wouldnít take a generous friend with me. The permanent deck posts were ten feet apart, and, corresponding to our respective heights, I placed a short ladder on Markís end and taller one on mine. With great effort we hoisted the beam onto our shoulders, then staggered back to our ladders. I climbed mine, and watched the legs of Markís ladder sink into the muddy earth as he climbed his. I knew we didnít have much shoulder time and because I had the ladder height advantage, I waited, rather impatiently, for Mark to push his end up onto his post.

ìAre you ready?î Mark grunted.

ìIím ready, are you ready?î

ìIím ready. Iím going to lift my end.î

ìGo ahead, lift.î My shoulder was already hurting.

ìReady?î

ìHurry up.î

ìHere goes..uummphî

Mark was facing away from me and I watched as nothing moved. Not his back, nor his arms, and especially not the beam. It was as if the plank, Passion fashion, were nailed to his shoulder. I laughed and I couldnít stop. Mark is tall and strong – Iíve seen him portage canoes alone – and this felt like a cartoon in The New Yorker.

ìNothing happened, Mark, try it again.î

ìOkay, Iím going to lift right….NOW!

Again, nothing. Less movement than before, certainly less upward movement. Now I was laughing too hard to hold my end up.

ìThatís it, Iíve got to put this thing down,î I hollered, tears running down my cheeks.

We backed off our ladders, teetered into the yard and with relief, dropped the beam onto the ground. I found a taller ladder under a neighboring condo ownerís deck, and swapped it for Markís short one. We picked up the beam, wobbled back to our ladders, and with a slightly sub hernia effort, positioned it perfectly on the two posts. I thought that I should nail it, but figured the eventual weight of the deck would clamp it into place.

The next step was to knock out the temporary supports. The front of the deck was held up by cross shaped timbers Iíd nailed together. They were robust; they had to be to hold up the deck. I stood under the deck and with my sledge hammer, I began to knock the base of the timber away from the deck. With each bang, Iíd look at Mark and say, ì Are you sure this is okay? Weíre not overlooking anything are we? The deck will settle down on top the new beam, right?î

I was happy to have Mark checking my work. Whatever I overlooked, surely heíd catch, except heíd been providing the dayís entertainment with stories about work and Janís trip. He had been from the start, fully engaged physically, but not mentally.

ìIím sure,î Mark replied, but continued to drone on about how Kevin was fixing Janís computer and in the process had… . He was paying enough attention to walk out from under the deck and into the yard. I hit the 4 x 4 again, knocked it another inch, stopped, looked around and asked the same question.

What I had learned from that almost roof calamity, was to double check even what I deemed fail safe. The end of the temporary support pops out, the deck drops that inch and weíre done. Except. Yes, of course, there is always an except. With my last hammer swing the base kicked into the yard, and the top of the cross fell towards me. Suddenly the tape, My Life, was in the VCR and somebody had hit replay. I was watching my second grade confirmation and wondering what had become of those bright white teeth when the cross hit the horizontal beam we had so laboriously added. Stop. Salvation. I wasnít going to die. Except it hit with such force that it knocked our beam halfway off the supports. Start. Mark couldnít see the beam from where he stood, which is why he continued talking about Janís computer.

Work on the second deck, not as high off the ground, resulted in the same comedy of errors. That beam, though longer, didnít require ladders. Mark pressed his end into place, but when I lifted my end on, it levered his off. His end hit the ground, mine caught the edge of the deck, and like a teeter totter with the skinny kid in the air, raised the entire structure up off its temporary supports. From where Mark stood, he couldnít see those supports dangling in air, which is probably why, when his cell phone rang, he answered it.

|Every year Diane (in her quest for continuing education credits) and I attend a symposium hosted by the MFA, and presented by The Boston Institute for Psychotherapy. This year’s focus: What is Your Passion, The essential role of Creativity in Psychotherapy and ordinary life. Pictured above: Ellen Langer, Michael Mack, and Elyssa Ely.

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Tonight weíre having a potluck dinner at our house with the all the camping boys and their parents. And if time permits in their busy schedule, Tricia and Adam will join us. It looks like those Maine lakes are still frozen , but we have fifteen days before departure.