My not-so-secret shame

After the inspiration post the other week, photos of the actual backyard should have followed promptly. As they would have, were I not ridiculously embarrassed of how bad it's gotten back there.

"You expect me to poop in this craphole?!"



That was taken from the sliding door in the office, facing southwest. Note side of neighbor's garage and, uh, rustic? shabby chic? fence.

The classy item, the Lutyens bench, was Michael's from before we met. The distinctly unclassy item, the Easter Island head, was a plastic piece of crap I bought off eBay. Go Team Trailer Trash!

Facing west, with the garage wall on the left:



Note rangy lavender bush and bare dirt where the dog leaps from the porch.

Looking south from the north end of the back beck:



The half-wall used to run almost all the way around the perimeter of the deck, but Michael removed all but this side, which blocks the view of our aircon unit, which is older than either of us. Underneath the deck is cracked cement.

Yes, we have a lot of outdoor furniture, none of which matches. This is what happens when you get married as old farts, so there's a lesson in that, somewhere. Also, unused dog crate and, way back and on the right, the wrought iron table that Michael tiled with a representation of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Who said I had all the class in this family?

Also note ghetto corrugated porch cover. What I didn't manage to snap a good photo of is the section above the grill, which buckled pretty severely and started leaking during the recent Snowpocalypse.

Here's a really "great" shot of how crappy the grass looks:



Sod courtesy of dogpiss and spazzed-out labradoodle.

So now it's out there, the reason why I lie and tell people that we don't have a backyard. Hopefully this will be the kick in the slats I need to help Michael get this done. He's already got the entire space exquisitely detailed in Google Sketch Up, so it's only a matter of time until I come home to a driveway piled five feet high with pea gravel.