Ironica

I love my job!

In all seriousness I do.
 It's not been quite a month since I was granted the opportunity to resume my career as a cabinet maker. My employer is very thoughtful and good to me - at the same time I know I have a lot to offer, so, fair trade until you add in the trans thing. I am grateful.

Tomorrow, I am to interview a potential shop mate. The boss (it feels more partnerish) says "Your word is law." I take this very seriously and hate/love to think that the potential hire is coming from a shop that's closing - one of the shops that rejected me for employment. I'm so glad they did!

One of the questions I intend to ask is "As a kid, did you like to tinker with things? Take them apart and put them back together? Did you ever build a treehouse?"

Which brings me to this pictorial:
The treehouse -
Barely visible in the Summer, the "fourth level" was about 50' from the ground, as measured with a 50' extension cord.

These first pictures were taken with a Kodak Instamatic camera, borrowed from Mom,  which used a flashcube and a square format. The pictures came printed on textured paper. This is 1975 and '76 and I was 15-16years old.

From our back yard, in the winter, it was easy to see. The first level had a couch, a sleeping bunk, a canvas roof and eventually, a brick fireplace.

And here you can see the smokestack for the fireplace on the right, the "second level, which was just silly to say it was a "level" but everyone else said so..." and my brother standing in the entrance, the swing (on a chain) and it's landing pad foolishly covered in slick vinyl flooring.

My best buddy "Molrus" in the following pic, took these with his Polaroid 650. This is our friend, Dabid, whose Mom with a thick oriental accent, couldn't pronounce "V"s or "L's

My oldest friend just before his 16th birthday.

This is Yours Truly on the return swing to the landing platform.

And, avoiding the picture, I'll end up dropping off the swing, my feet about ten feet from the ground.

The fourth level was really big and one evening, most of my high school French class, including teacher, spent some time up there underneath party lights listening to whatever we had playing on the 8-track. Compliments of Molrus' dad and his thousand foot roll of electric cable, we had power all the way up to the 5th level.

You can see my Mom's '72 VW bug (to the right of the house, off the driveway) from here.

It took two years to build and two days to tear down. Some kid we didn't know fell off the swing and broke both his wrists and his jaw. My uncle, the attorney, said "tear it down now."

To our horror, the tree died the next Summer. By Winter that year, it was a sad sight. I'd like to think that it missed us but I know the real reason it died was because the nail holes we left allowed bugs to get in. It was a magnificent oak tree, so big that it took three of us to reach our arms around it's base. It would have been a landmark in the neighborhood that would eventually surround it.

So... did you ever build a treehouse?