The Adirondack Agenda

Hoofing it as I do all over the neighborhood with faithful canine companion Ben, I do tend notice Things.

This spring it's the burgeoning population of brightly colored Adirondack chairs, mostly plastic resin and readily available at big box home improvement stores, that are sprouting up in my good neighbors' front yards like happy red, blue and orange wildflowers.

I am puzzled by this.

I generally associate Adirondack chairs with relaxation and serenity, perhaps accompanied by the gentle caress of a warm summer breeze smelling of algae and rotting fish "The Lake," as we call all lakes here in Bermtopia. I further assume one seeks said relaxation and serenity in sheltered, private places, away from the prying eyes of neighbors and dizzying scent of lawn mower exhaust.

Parking your Adirondack in the front yard seems counterintuitive. How can one fully relax and find serenity -- perhaps drift off  into a lazy-summer-day catnap -- when there is a possibility a neighbor stopping by and asking you to stop snoring? or dab at the bit of drool leaking from the corner of your mouth? or steal your glass of Sangria.

I just don't get it.

That being said, we also have Adirondack chairs. We have sipped the Adirondack Kool-aid.

We've got two lovely plastic resin lavender ones -- firmly planted in our back yard in a strategic place where one can relax, find serenity, nap, star and garden gaze-- with the added bonus of not getting pooped on by the legions of small birds who have taken up residence in and around the backyard this spring. We're special that way.

But the keywords are "back yard." That's where these chairs belong. In my humble opinion.

I suppose some Front Yarders might argue it gives them a sense of neighborliness -- not unlike the big wide farmhouse porches did at the turn of century. I say, Really? For here's the thing: For as elegantly staged as they are I. never. see. anyone. sitting. in. them. Day or night.

So much for the neighborliness theory.

I am going to call you out, Front Yarders. You like your Adironracks because they look hip and trendy and colorful in your front yards BUT YOU DO NOT LIKE SITTING IN THEM. Let's face it, it's the outdoor equivalent of a dentist chair, tipped back, prepped for a teeth cleaning.

AND they're a bitch to get out of.

There. I've said it. It's a bitch to get extricate yourself from an Adirondack. Especially if you're a short-legged, short-waisted, bottom-heavy 60-year-old woman like me.

But don't worry, Front Yarders. Your dark little secret is safe with me.

But would you excuse me now? I have to go.

The block and tackle is here to help me from my seat.