I have been absorbed by getting the deck painted. They finished last night, but had to come back to finish loading the old wood, as their van had run out of space. It is a family operation. Alex is the main guy and his father and brother help him.

I sat there waiting for Alex to come. I had lunch and then I had coffee. Finally, I saw them pulling up into the driveway. I gathered my nerve and shared the list of things I thought still needed his attention, even though I had paid him in full.

He listened carefully. To the first issue—that one side of the house appears to have boards that are slightly different in color, he told me that cedar boards are never uniform.

Then I showed him a board on the deck that is visible from my bedroom window. “It needs some paint on the side,” I said. And he touched it up.

“Alex,” I said, timidly, “Some of these boards still look bad to me.” He had replaced over 40 and this house is 39 years old.

“I didn’t put these down, but I see what you mean about the paint,” he said.

“I tell you what,” he went on. “I will replace four boards for you at no charge and I want to respray the deck, for my own sake,” he offered.

I then told him about my deciding to stay on in the house after Bob’s death. “I try to take good care of the house,” I told him about losing my daughter as well. His eyes welled up.

By the time he and his dad left, I was joking around with them. His dad barely understands English. I said “Mi amigos, mi familia!” And Alex beamed and said, “Yes, familia.”

And that is what is going on with me. I bare my soul to someone on occasion and that always bears fruit.

If you consider me family, you know what I mean. “Mi familia.”

Vicki Woodyard