My Wonderings

What started out as a big, but manageable job — repaint the porch floor — snowballed into a multi-week, all-consuming series of home repairs. All thanks to Dad. He’s the one who gave me the genetic makeup with a tendency toward bouts of the dumps and “tunnel vision.” Sometimes, tunnel vision helps me get out of the dumps. That is, when the tunnel I’m visioning is leading away from my own head and whatever is getting me down. It’s a modus operandi commonly referred to as “the zone.” When I’m in “the zone” all the necessary pistons in my brain are firing in rapid and appropriate sequence (if that’s what pistons do) and I can accomplish significant tasks. Difficult papers and sermons get written, programs are envisioned and developed, furniture is refinished or reupholstered, and gourmet meals are cooked. Unfortunately, anything not connected with the task at hand is tuned out. That’s the part of the syndrome that’s not a good thing. It leads to other things and/or people being neglected. Like this blog. So I thought I’d get back in the swing of blogging by taking a break from my Bob Villa/Martha Stewart Tunnel and share some pictures of my work.

This big project all started as a gesture to help Gregg out with one of “his” projects. He said the porch floor had to be painted before the wet, cold months ahead. I thought I’d lend a hand by getting it started and take a break from worrying about my lack of income-producing work. Plus, I wanted to pick out the color if we decided to make a change. Plus, I liked peeling the flaking paint off with my fingers. Something about the destructiveness of pulling off a long strip of latex is deeply satisfying. I like to remove fingernail polish that way too. Maybe it’s about power or about being in control. I couldn’t wait to plug in the belt sander and watch the ugly, cracked and alligatored paint disappear. The first day was spent cleaning the floor with TSP. That stuff makes me happy. It dissolves everything from gecko scat to bubble gum. It will also remove epidermis so it is wise to wear chemical gloves. Several days of immensely satisfying sanding followed. Finally, it was time for the paint. Applying it was as easy as mopping the kitchen floor. I wasn’t that crazy about the color, though. I had chosen a caramel brown to trim the boring ivory of the siding. In the shade it was difficult to tell the two colors apart. But I knew I needed to see it how it looked with the whole floor, fully saturated with the color, against the wall. Three coats later, I still wasn’t convinced that the caramel was enough contrast.

The third coat was needed because I let two labrador retrievers (for a total of forty claws) reclaim their high throne of the neighborhood too soon. Next time, I won’t be such a sucker for their forlorn expressions. Every morning and every evening, Sadie and Lucy keep watch from this post over the comings and goings of Jester Estates. The first month we lived here, Sadie vaulted through the posts, sticking her landing with the athleticism of an Olympic gymnast. She has since decided that queens should not attempt to fly from second story balconies and that her subjects would have to be satisfied with her enthusiastic barking instead. Although the queens were quite content with their new, smooth, clean, and very weather-protected throne, I was underwhelmed. I needed a bigger payoff.

Characteristic of the way this house was not maintained by the previous owners, the porch swing was an eye-sore. They had attempted to cover-up and stop the mildew growing on the swing with a sloppy coat of primer. It didn’t work. And although painting furniture was beyond the scope of my plan, I knew that a fresh coat of accent paint would give me the wow factor I felt I had earned. My goal was to match the existing forest green of the shutters because they did not need to be repainted. And I didn’t want to add any unnecessary home work to my extremely long list. Days later, I could no longer convince myself that this color matched the shutters at all. I hung the swing anyway; deciding that it would be far enough away from the shutters to avoid clashing. But as I stared to analyze whether I was right about the clash saving distance I realized that I LOVED this new color. It was tranquil and peaceful and calming. I figured that I might as well paint over the existing shutters with a color that made me this happy.

Of course, I couldn’t very well paint only the shutters when the window needed to be trimmed out with the new caramel color of the floor. And, all this fresh paint made the annoying overspray on the aluminum window frame from the previous owner’s substandard work stand out all the more glaring. And, I couldn’t very well leave trimless the two sets of french doors (each with attaching screen doors) that are on either side of the shuttered window. At this juncture, I became traumatized by door hinges. I still can’t even talk about it. Suffice it to say, not only were the hinges previously PAINTED OVER but all the screws were stripped and the bolts were rusted solidly stuck. If you’re thinking that I could have chosen to paint these doors and frames while they were attached then you’re not sufficiently imagining how badly they needed thorough repair and cleaning. If I had gone that route, I’m sure it would have ruined the entire aesthetic.

For example, the brass thresholds had been completely covered with paint. Both inside and outside. If hell freezes over and I ever move again, I don’t want the next owner to think it was me who didn’t know any better. Almost every fixture and hardware in this house, from the light switches to the electrical outlets had been painted! Grrrr! I know I keep going on and on about this but apparently bad paint jobs are a pet peeve of mine. The thing about bad paint jobs is that they haunt you on a daily basis, or at least on those occasions you try to clean the house. Anyway, so many, many days were spent working on these problem spots and obsessing all the while on the importance of taking good care of one’s home that I realized that I was majoring in the minors and neglecting other areas that were more critical than cosmetic surgery. The only way I could assuage my guilt over wasting time on such minutia as boiling hook and eyes to remove decades of crud was to paint something that really mattered. That was a matter of life or death.

This was post #50. It broke off in my hand during the floor painting phase. It could have killed me. But there was too much work left to be done. I had come too far and too long to slop paint over the 49 posts that were cracked and alligatored and vulnerable to the destructive side of water. If you’ve not had the opportunity to sand carved wooden posts let me recommend the dreamy Dremel. It can sand off, grind off, polish off, cut off almost any imaginable problem. After these past few weeks, I now enter a Zen-like state just holding the Dremel in my hand. When I come across one more thing that needs repair in this house, I just laugh. Because there’s not much that can intimidate me as long as I have my two dogs and a Dremel. Except maybe Gregg, who made an innocent (?) remark the other day about how much easier the under-remodeled kitchen would be to bear if the tile grout was five different shades of dirt.

Sarah Bennett is an Episcopal priest in the Diocese of Texas. She is an avid evangelist of social media and honest, authentic conversations of the spiritual journey.  Gregg and I have been married 24 yrs with "narry a ripple in the sea of matrimony." We have a daughter, Megan (22) and a son, Gregg (20). I am an Episcopal priest exploring the theological and ecclesiological implications of social networks. Read more from this author