The frog days of summer

   Curse you, Mr. Frog. Curse you and your unobtrusive, outdoor, musical entertainment value. Your widely splayed, webbed feet, your placid, uncaring stare, and your discreetly hidden, waterproof speaker have been the cause of much consternation to me over the past several days.
   Two years ago, when first you graced our household, the logistics of your operation were simple. I hooked you up to the 'B' speaker channel of my upstairs amplifier, and sweet, sweet music on the patio was my reward. Sure, it wasn't a perfect solution. You are much less efficient than my living room speakers, so if they were on at the same time as you, we found that either they were too loud, or you were too quiet. Still, we enjoyed your presence during the course of the summer, and into the early autumn.
   Then, over the winter, everything changed. We re-arranged our living room furniture, adding a piece or two, removing others, and suddenly found we did not have a place for my 'upstairs' amplifier anymore. The solution, at the time, was to move the amp down in to the crawl space directly below, leave it on permanently, fix the volume, and install a volume control in the wall of the living room. An elegant solution, I thought.
   Spring rolled around again, as it is wont to do, and I once again came face to face with your Mona Lisa-like, enigmatic smile. Hooking you up this time was not going to be quite as simple. I could have connected you to the same volume control as the other pair of speakers, but doing that would result in both you and the speakers in the living room being on at the same time, all the time. I would not have been able to turn off one or the other independently. I considered that to be an unacceptable solution.
   Also possible, was hooking you up directly to the 'B' speaker channel of the amp again. However, that amp was now in the far reaches of the crawl space, and turning you on and off would have been very inconvenient, to say the least. As well, your volume would have to have been controlled from the amp, and the living room volume control in the system would have introduced all sorts of complicated interactions to that scenario. The very opposite of an elegant solution, I would say.
   The elegant solution, of course, was the very same one I had employed before. Another volume control to regulate your froggy output. But where to put it? Ah, yes, the question. Outside, near the patio would be the most convenient, but would necessitate the use of a special, water-tight box to contain the volume control, and was a more involved installation than I was prepared to undertake on your behalf. Alternatively, a spot in the kitchen, just inside the patio door, was next considered. The obvious solution, but the logistics of running wire in a sixty year old house are more complicated than in newer homes, and in the end, I simply did not get around to it, as they say. We went that summer without the pleasantry of your company. Alas!
   Here it is, spring once again. And once again, I find you peeking out from under the protective canopy of the Bar-b-que cover, taunting me with your potential musical reproduction capabilities. This year will be different, I exclaim. This year I will sit on my patio and enjoy a cold beer whilst listening to you play Jimi Hendrix and Led Zeppelin music in your entirely uncroaking way. I only need a plan.


   And a plan I did develop. In my kitchen, in a location that would be entirely convenient for the placement of an in-wall volume control, there was already a wall-mounted phone jack. I determined to temporarily remove the phone jack, enlarge the hole in the drywall, and install a volume control in such a way as both could be covered by one decora, double-gang wall plate. This I had the knowledge and the experience to undertake.
   I did remove the phone jack from the wall, and left it dangling by its wire. I did carefully measure, level, and mark the appropriately sized cut-out to fit a new retrofit, double-gang drywall caddy. I did measure twice, and cut once. And the hole was the right size, and the caddy fit like a glove. I was happy...until I saw the block.
   Yes, my froggy friend, my enjoyment of you was not to be achieved quite so easily as I had planned. It is, it seems, ever this way. The block was both literal and figurative. Literally, it was a two-by-four block. My house, you see, is of an age that when it was built, the tradesmen actually cared about what they were doing, and the prevailing business model was not "cut costs at every corner." All of the two-by-four stud walls in my house have cross blocks in them. It serves to prevent the wood from warping and twisting over time, so the walls stay flat. Figuratively, it was a roadblock that I was going to have to overcome if I was ever going to get your throwback tadpole tail of speaker wire routed through the volume control and to the amplifier.
   Overcoming that roadblock, however was not to be an easy endeavour, as you will soon see. Into the two-by-four cross block, I was going to have to drill two holes: one for the speaker wire coming in from the amplifier, and one for the speaker wire going out to you, my musical frog. Drilling these holes was to be accomplished through a four by six inch opening in the drywall, approximately six inches above the surface to be drilled, without further enlarging the opening. A conundrum over which I was to puzzle for the succeeding three days, juggling three different length drill bits, two different drills, a 90 degree chuck adapter, and numerous protestations, imprecations and maledictions.
   It can be our little secret, can't it, the fact that it took me three days to drill two holes in a block of wood? We don't have to mention that I had to cut a hole in the other side of the wall, inside the bedroom closet, in order to do it either, do we? And it would be good if we could just skip over the part where my first attempt got more than six inches deep before I realised that I was drilling directly into the center of a two-by-eight floor joist. Honestly, my tuneful amphibian, these are the kinds of details my readers just aren't interested in hearing.
   Would I lie to you?

   And so, nearly a full week after I began, I made the final connection. I plugged in the amplifier, and ever so tentatively pressed the power button. I waited. There was no smoke.
   I climbed the stairs. I entered the kitchen. I turned the volume dial, but soft, only one notch, for caution is the better part of valour. I proceeded to the patio, bent down my head towards your impenetrable gaze. And I heard, oh yes I heard a sound. Running back into the kitchen, I turned the dial, again with caution, two more notches, and returned to hear what I would hear. With what wisdom did you grace my ears, oh salient one?

Nothing matters but the weekend
From a Tuesday point of view
Like a kettle in the kitchen
I feel the steam begin to brew

Apt words, my imperturbable friend. Apt words.

   So, here we are. I have my favourite beer chilling in the refrigerator. I have my favourite albums lined up in the CD changer. I have my fingers on my newly installed in-wall volume control. And I stand at the door, eyes upon the steel grey sky; the circles bursting into being, one wiping out another, in the water filled indentation on my patio; the needle on my thermometer pointing firmly at the number fifty. If I press my face to the window, I can just see the tip of your nose sticking out past the edge of the Bar-B-Que cover, testing the cool, moist spring air. The weather makes no dent in your stolid, stoic expression. You don't mind the rain. No, you don't mind at all. You are, after all, a frog.

tags:Misc., Humour