Not long ago, the village sent me a note — a low-tech, paper note, stuck in the door — that soon my “apron” would be replaced. It took me a moment to figure out that meant the section of my driveway that’s between the street and the sidewalk. Turns out the village meant not only that, but the sidewalk next to it as well.

Technically, the apron isn’t part of my driveway, since the it’s beyond my lot line. But I use it all the time as if I owned it because it leads to my driveway. The advantage to it belonging to the village is, of course, no fee for the replacement above the taxes I already pay.

We had time to move the cars to the street where, we were assured, they wouldn’t be ticketed for overnight parking. And they haven’t been. Soon workmen and big machines came along.

Wooden boards were erected to contain the concrete in its liquid-ish moments.

Pouring concrete.

I don’t have an image of the finished apron and sidewalk, but it’s a bright white hard surface. I didn’t sign my name or initials on it, or let the dog paw it. Also, there’s no imprint by the contractor, or a date, as you see elsewhere sometimes — and for a long time.

Such as the sidewalk in Milwaukee’s Walker’s Point neighborhood earlier this month.

Not the contractor, but the city’s imprint. It was an old slab of concrete, but it’s held up fairly well for more than 80 years in the chilly Wisconsin climate. Will my new apron hold up so long? Till the turn of the 22nd century?