80 degrees in January

I helped my dad build a frame for a swing yesterday.  He wants to build it for my little nephew to have at Mimi and Poppa's house.  They'll put a baby swing on it now that can be exchanged for a normal swing later when he gets a little older.  

Dad based his design on an old swing that Hub and I inherited from them when they moved from Palestine to Granbury (not Grandbury, which I might have written on all the return addresses for Sis's wedding invitations... oops).  This swing has lasted a long time and faithfully served its purpose well, so it seems to be a trustworthy design.

I just want to give a shout out (people can still say that) to my dad's spacial reasoning and general handiness.  He don't play when it comes to putting things together.  I basically just held things and picked up dropped screws when necessary.  My two valuable contributions were my drill and my flexible knees.

We measured, went to Lowe's, came back, and put it together like it was no thing... with maybe a chicken salad intermission.  I was struck by how similar my experience yesterday was with sewing.  It's same thing just using a different medium.  Measuring?  yes.  Cutting?  yes.  Piecing together?  yes.  Trial and error?  yes.  Gratification when it all works?  yes. 

I know it's hard to tell in this picture, but here is the unassembled swing in the back of Dad's truck ready to be hauled home.  The two "A" frame sides are underneath and the top support is laying on top of them.  I forgot to take a picture while it was still together.

Lastly, here's a pic of Pup, our supervising contractor.  I was lucky to get this shot.  She was sleeping in the sun for most of the afternoon.  It was a fun day for all.