Last week, I spoke of my plans to get out into the wild more. Grassy Pond, a local park with a lake and a hiking trail seemed a good place to start, or the much larger Bank’s Lake. Perhaps a road trip would be in order, some clear, spring fed river in Florida with manatees. Then the phone rang.
My painting contractors would arrive Monday at seven in the morning, to begin work on painting the outside of the house.
Getting a good contractor, and getting one just to show up, has been an issue. We’re twenty-five miles from the nearest sizable town, and one of the problems is if there is something needed, it’s going to take an hour and a half to two hours to get it and get back.
The guy doing our painting made a deal with me; he would do the work, but if someone had to go get something, I would do it. Hell, I go to the Y to work out three or four times a week anyway, so why not? One of the problems is I don’t like leaving Mom alone at home with strangers, and Budlore Amadeus likes it even less. Keeping Bud separated from what he sees as potential murderers, which is anyone other than family, would be key.
The pressure washing of the house went quickly and without a lot of effort on my part, other than buying twenty gallons of paint. It’s a wise contractor that requires the house owner to buy the paint in person. That way, you pick the paint out and all that is wrong with the colors are not his fault. The woman with a purple house story is a great one, remind me tell that one to you one day.
When the actual painting began, various and odd pieces of wood needed to be replaced, and so that meant a trip into town here and there. More paint was needed. I had to let the dogs in and out of the house without violence. The screens on the back porched needed replacing. And in all of this, Mom fretted and fretted. She also wanted her room and bathroom painted, the laundry room painted, the trees outside, and the sky and the moon, too. Later, definitely, but later.
Thursday morning, 16 March 2023, as I write this, the men outside are painting. They are working with alacrity, and with that easy way you see a crew work when they’ve been together for a while. The foreman rarely has to direct, and when he does it’s causal and to the point; this is a great group to have out here. The dogs are crated, Mom is fretting, and I am writing, as you can tell.
My time on the water will have to wait, the trails in the woods will have to do without me for another few days. Outside my window right now, is the sound of a compressor running, and the paint goes on the house.
This is a serious level of adulting.
Mike writes regularly at his site: The Hickory Head Hermit.
Opinions expressed in this article are not necessarily those of the management of this site.
6 thoughts on “Friday Firesmith – Adventures in Painting”
Good for you, running the gauntlet through the hoops and over the hurdles to get the job done. The reward is bigger than any recreational outing but it’s much harder. You’ve had years of experience watching crews work where you were not directing the work but responsible for the outcome. What color?
Budlore Amadeus trusts your judgment but will keep an eye out… you know, just in case. LoL
Believe it or not, Jessica Elizabeth is the one who charged up to the window and put on a pretty good show. Low slung, striped pit bitch mode, and full volume and teeth showing, too. That got her put in the crate. Scared the hell out of the guy on the porch, and I had to reassure them the dogs would be contained. The foreman is a good contractor but he’s also a good man. He wants to do a good job, but he wants me to keep the dogs out of sight. And that’s fair.
I’d be nervous about leaving my mother alone with a work crew, in town, in the country, anyplace. You really never know. I don’t blame you one iota. Trust in Dog. Always trust in Dog!
Chick, I trust in Dog, not in man. When it comes to the Mom, I trust in Bud. He trusts no one, no thing, and his world is totally black and white. If it’s not family it has no reason to be near the house.
Mike: so why did that woman end up with a purple house?
Tim, it was supposed to be more blue than purple, but two weeks after the painters left, the house began to change. From the heat or the sunlight, or both, the blue house began a horrible transformation to a grape color. She was not in a grape mood about it, and began to wine.