Brush in Hand

After weeks away, my project is back on track. It was like climbing a mountain; getting the ladder back out, locating my cans of paint, sand paper, scraper, patching compound, brushes, hammer, nails, ratty apron with the big pocket... In my mind the project had taken on an enormous insurmountable scale and I was dreading it. Once back up on the ladder I gradually moved into my zone and again enjoyed the experience. Focusing on what is right in front of me - peeling paint, resetting a nail - it's a bit like a working meditation.

Today, I spent the morning hours scraping, patching, sanding, and washing the front of the garage. Tomorrow, after it is thoroughly dry, I will apply the paint. Once I had finished washing down the walls, 'Clem flopped down on the now-cool pavement and had his siesta.

The front of the garage differs from the back in that is hasn't been blasted by the sun to the extent as the south-facing wall had been. It also has a vent which will require a bit more finesse with a brush.

While 'Clem napped, I retreated to the cool interior of the house and waited for the sun to move from the back door where I would next move my operations.

The back door which leads into the kitchen faces east and takes the full brunt of the sun for hours each morning. When we first moved into our home the back door was french-style, top-to-bottom single panes of glass and rotting wood. It had baked and offered minimal thermal protection. Years ago we replaced it with a solid-core steel-clad door possessing dual-paned glass, but it still takes a beating from relentless el Sol.

I taped, sanded, and removed the hardware (door knob, dead bolt, strike plate) and was well into my painting when I heard the sickening squeal of tires on pavement and the twisting of metal on metal.

I dropped everything and sprinted down the street. The sight was chilling. No fewer than four vehicles strewn all over 7th Avenue. A woman was on the side of the road screaming hysterically, so I headed to her. A young man - her significant other - was already on the phone calling for help and her six-year-old son, uninjured, Thank God, was standing by her side. I knelt in front of her, told her I was trained in First Aid and asked if she would allow me to help.

There were no obvious external injuries but she was complaining of chest and stomach pain. She'd been wearing her seat belt and the airbag had deployed - the seat belt probably being responsible for the pain. There was nothing to do now but watch her and keep her still, comfort her as best I could, and wait for the paramedics to arrive. I held her hand and stroked her hair and spoke to her by name. She calmed some but when she closed her eyes I made her open them back up and look at me - I needed her to stay awake.

My neighbors, a nurse and a doctor, arrived and I relinquished my care. The police, fire department, paramedics, arrived and I melted into the background. When she was safely on a back board and being loaded into an ambulance, I walked back home. Only then did I realize I had gravel embedded in my knees, wore filthy socks without shoes, and was covered in paint.

I finished painting the door and trim. Now it was therapeutic. It wasn't enough to eradicate the images of broken glass, pools of radiator fluid, and a screaming woman - but it helped. And I tried to hold in my mind a picture of an unharmed six-year-old boy who smiled in spite of it all.

Biding My Time...

It's Sunday. About 3 PM. The mercury stands at 101 in the shade. I won't be scraping, sanding, or painting anything until after the sun goes down.

Inside the light is dim and cool. Crinkled voile covers the windows creating a red glow and blocking some of the harsher rays of the sun. Officially, summer has not yet arrived. My senses tell me otherwise.

A Brief Hiatus

My painting efforts have been put temporarily on hold as I am out of town on assignment! I've been spending several days providing quality control for a construction project in the Verde Valley of Arizona. It's been a tremendous experience although we've had blustery weather and even a brief snow flurry yesterday afternoon.

Painting will resume when we return from our vacation week after next. In the interim I have photos of the cedar chest and spool chest that we received from Steve's parents. As they are moving to a smaller home, they passed these along to us. The cedar chest makes a lovely coffee table and the spool chest will hold little odds and ends.

The spool chest is in the dining room. I think I'll put my silver tableware in the small drawers.

O' the Joy!

Finally, finally, brush in hand, I got to experience the joy of coating my sanding, scraping, patching with paint! Two coats. (Well, four coats on the window frame because I had the colors backwards initially. C'est la vie.)


Of note: While I've been painting the rose garden is producing wonderful colors of its own. The Saint Patrick is blooming beautifully.

Daily, new blooms arrive on the hollyhocks.

What's 'Clem looking at...?

...The lizard on the fence. Can you see it?

When Do We Actually "Paint?"

Well, not yet but soon. Soon. I've got three gallons of primer stashed in the trunk of the car. I need to go back to the Depot and get a couple of gallons of the "self-sealing" masonry paint (I had to check the colors, first). This time next week I will hopefully be reporting that the painting of the outbuilding (also known as the garage) is complete. After that, I plan to move on to the patio. I'll tackle the house proper after we return from Canyonlands.

Steve replaced a bit of rotten wood atop one of the supports on the patio. The wood he replaced was pretty much dust and fell apart in his hand. It now looks worse than it is, as Steve did a wonderful job on the repair. I'll prep, patch and sand this before painting, of course.

Neglect Not The Garden...

Today, the garden was calling to me. I'd become so involved in my scraping and sanding and patching and such that I'd been neglecting the Bermuda grass that was starting to take over the beets. I spent the better part of the afternoon pulling undesirables and clearing off my potting table. A new border went in around two sides of the asparagus patch and old twigs and such went into the trash.

Manuela, our mail carrier, likes grapefruit! Huzzah! I spoke with her today and she is quite keen to take some of the citrus off my hands. What she doesn't consume herself her co-workers are happy to have so I shall pick some and leave them on the porch for her tomorrow.

Scraping... Scraping...

Tuesday. The front gable is not so readily scraped. As the sun never actually shines on this surface, the paint is in poor condition but not baked to peeling as it is on the back. Consequently, it requires a lot more elbow grease to make headway. I am getting off the big chunks but will resort to the sander for the balance.

The framing around the garage door is marginally more cooperative. I had to prune back a large sage to get at the trim and soffit. More patching is on the horizon. Tomorrow, Friday, I shall purchase my primer.

Wednesday I took a break from scraping and moved to the back porch where I proceeded to take down strings of lights, wind chimes, the thermometer, and the bottle opener. Stray nails were pulled, and all manner of "crap" was relocated to the vegetable garden pending disposal or permanent relocation.

I cleaned out the rock pile, too. (What? Doesn't everyone have a rock pile?)