But when it appeared they were happy in the front yard, I brought a couple of rarely used, wooden Adirondack chairs from the backyard and set them on the front lawn. Scott and I sat and relaxed.
That night I left those chairs where they were because I'm generally a very lazy person and hate cleaning up after myself. Though I knew they were defenseless against the elements and automatic sprinklers, there was something so pleasing about the sight of them in that corner of the lawn; the Birds of Paradise hedge behind them, the palm trees and neighbor's olive tree providing an arbor overhead.
It's an area the kids hardly explore, making it a perfect place from which to sit and watch them. It's shady and offers a pleasant view of the neighborhood; a great spot from which to yell at the cars speeding down our residential street.
Scott followed his kid down the next day after school, and a bottle of wine magically appeared. The scene repeated itself a few days later. His wife and mine visited, and we found a few more chairs. I dusted off a dilapidated old bamboo end table to set our drinks upon. The chairs are now a fixture on the front lawn. The gardeners move them when they mow, but always place them right back where they belong.
My grandparents were married some 60 years, qualifying them as experts on just about everything in life. They had a name for their evening cocktail: the Shibobby. Legend has it the name was how my oldest sister pronounced the mysterious concoction of Bourbon and water. They liked theirs served tall, in a generic plastic glass. No buckets or tumblers for them.