Out in the Shed

When Mike’s and my relationship was still new, and we spent night after night laying awake in bed telling each other about our lives, he only knew my grandfather as a stereotype: tough, burly and hard-working Texan who retired early thanks to oil, and made time for chicken fried steak between church and “working his land”. These days, the church-going southern retiree stereotype is talked about often, and usually comes up in conversations that contain the words “fucking”, “red” and “states”, but back then, most people wouldn’t have considered Grandpa and others like him the spur in the side of freedom and happiness.

Quite the contrary, Mike enjoyed hearing stories about Grandad climbing trees at 75 to trim back the branches, riding his lawn mower down to the mailbox, and sitting quietly in his office beneath his autographed portrait of Ronald Reagan to mail letters. To Mike, Grandad was an enigma. We were together almost two years before he met him, so he had heard every good story there was to tell - or at least all those that I knew of.

One of his favorite things to hear about was Grandad’s shed. In addition to his recreation room with (yes) hunting gear and television, and the garage with his tool table and golf clubs was his shed: a small metal shack that sat behind the tomato garden and functioned as Grandad’s secret club for over 30 years. He had a radio, an old armchair that Grandmom wouldn’t allow in the house, and stacks of newspapers, magazines and books that he’d look at when he took breaks from his endless outdoor duties. I’d joke that Grandad didn’t need to do any of the stuff he did, but didn’t like other people doing it for him, so he’d spend an entire weekend mowing the lawn and trimming the edges, taking breaks in the shed alone with his cold beer when he got tired.

I had grown up with the shed, so it wasn’t anything special for me, but for Mike, the almost magical shed represented a sort of accomplishment and freedom that he valued, even as a young college student operating on a $30 a month budget. It wasn’t long before he started talking about what his shed would look like when we bought a house, and what kinds of things he’d want in it. At first, his shed wasn’t unlike Grandad’s: he wanted a tv instead of a radio, but besides that, they seemed identical. He looked forward to meeting my Grandad and seeing the shed for himself. Perhaps they’d have a beer and work on the garden together.

Unfortunately, by the time we finished school in Maryland and made our way down to Texas, Grandad was deep in the throes of Alzheimer’s, and Grandma had decided that the old house was too much to keep up with. They were living in a small three bedroom home in a newly developed residential neighborhood, and one look at the garage dampened our hopes of spending time with Grandad in his element. The Reagan portrait was in the garage on a table, but none of his tools were around. The lawn mower had been sold, and there wasn’t a tomato garden. Even his golf clubs had been sold at a garage sale. Our now shared image of security had dissolved like sugar in a glass of water.

Despite this depressing end to Mike’s dream of a model shed, it wasn’t long before he had another solid and reliable representation of security. One Boston summer, we made our way to his aunt’s house - a home she’s made with her husband and child. Nestled in a charming suburb, the house features a well-manicured lawn, a picturesque pool and yes, a shed. Almost immediately, Mike was talking about the shed his uncle had made for himself. Television, barbecue, comfy chairs - what more could a man want?

After that visit, Mike started talking more and more about his “dream shed”. In no time, we had gone from a metal shack purchased in the Lowe’s parking lot with an AM/FM radio strung along from an outdoor outlet to a small house in our backyard, complete with pool table, surround sound and EZ Boys.

So you’re thinking what I’m thinking, right? The shed as a gateway to solidity has morphed into some sort of evil master plan for Mike’s hostile takeover of whatever plans I have for our future yard. Originally he wanted “Some little space that’s mine,” and now we’re talking about little villages for each of his friends.

But as long as we’re dreaming, he’s promised me a horse, so no complaints here.

*LOL* Well, as the owner of a yard that contains a partially finished 9×12 ’shed’ containing tv, dvd, cable, fridge, bar, keg, tap, ps2, couch, coffee table, drumset, keyboard and fooseball table, that is affectionately known far and wide as “The Manspace” - I say, and trust me on this, any shed/manspace/etc is a FABULOUS idea.

It resulted in MANY hours of peace I never would have gotten otherwise. *chuckles*

dude! we have a detached garage in the backyard that would SO make the perfect hangout place, rather than just the big open space with a roof and door where we shove crap. uh-oh, you may have inspired me to do something crazy! heh.

My God, that was super writing. Thanks.

Sheds and garages for guys are the equivalent of menstrual huts for women. Or, in my case, menopausal huts.

seriously. the guy - shed thing … iain is talking about getting ours wired for sound. electricity, heat, water, the whole bit. Next thing you know he’ll be installing, I dunno, fucking track lighting.

but if you get a pony, then yes. Fair’s fair.

digging on the new layout, by the way.

Of course, the logical next step for Mike is to transcend the whole “shed” thing and move on to the ultimate in evolutionary guyspace: the kickass monser treehouse. “You know… for Dash and his friends.” Who’ll clearly need to play pool and PS2 in air-conditioned, tree-supported comfort. Anyone can pick up a shed at Lowe’s or Home Depot… but it takes real vision to build a fully-powered, heated/cooled and ready-to-rumble manXanadu on a tree.

I guess our basement is my husbands “shed”. It has his weight bench, tools, computer bits and pieces. The washer and dryer are down there as well AND he just put up my speed bag too. I guess it’s our shed. As for our real shed it is a total eyesore and if we had some extra cash we’d knock it down and buy a nice one!

Let him have the shed if it means you get a horse! I went riding last night to help ease some of the stress I’m under right now, and it worked like a charm. My little blonde Quarter Horse is the best escape I can think of.

Oh, and our garage is my husband’s scratching, farting, cussing space. It has a beer fridge. You should SEE all the nervousness atwitter when he opens the door and finds *GASP* cans of soda intermingled with the beer.