Old-fashioned Work Ethic

My friend Mary came by today to borrow the hand sander. Seems as if she has a couple of Adirondack chairs in need of a new paint job, too. "That's fun!" I said cheerily.

"I'm not sure if I would call it 'fun'," she told me, "but it has to be done." She nodded out to the deck. "Yours look pretty good-- do you have any advice?"

I laughed because from that distance, they do look pretty good; the drips and dings and rough patches aren't noticeable at all. "Remember they're 'hand-painted'," I answered. "The imperfections are part of the charm!"

Unexpected Bonus

After painting? The elegant clean-up method of simply peeling the dried paint in a single, rubbery sheet from the paint pans the next day is weirdly satisfying.

Just sayin.

GoogleEDU

News today about a company course offered to Googlers on mindfulness and meditation. It's title? Why,  Search Inside Yourself, of course!

Arnold Palmer on Deck

Last week I received notice that I had to clear all the plants and furniture off our decks so that they could be repainted. While I appreciated the action, it was kind of a pain in the butt to find a temporary place for everything.

When I was 10 my family moved across the highway from our originally pink Levitt colonial to an authentic Victorian house with six bedrooms. Oh the place needed work, which is exactly why my mother wanted it, and she was up to the challenge-- stripping wall paper, knocking plaster off covered up fireplaces, painting, laying flooring, building closets, re-upholstering furniture, you name it, in the three short years that we lived there, that house was vastly improved.

To a child, perhaps it was the porches that were the most different from our tract home. Where once we had poured concrete and brick, now we had wide gracious outdoor spaces with white trim and painted gray floor boards. One of the things I remember most was the side porch. Three feet above street-level, it ran the length of the front room and the dining room, but with no stairs the only way to get out there was through a door in the dining room. I liked to pretend that it was the deck of a ship and I was the captain, and in the summer I spent afternoons out there in the shade reading and drinking ice tea with lemonade.

When the painting was done here, I was a bit dismayed to find that they had whitewashed the formerly stained floor planks. That just seemed like a bad idea, so off I went to my local home improvement store where I purchased a gallon of porch gray. After patching and repainting the Adirondack chairs white, today I turned my attention to the floors, and now I have my own gracious space.

Ice tea and lemonade at the ready-- I'll need them tomorrow.

Galvanized

"So, when are you guys planning to bring Josh down to move in?" Heidi asked Michelle yesterday.

"Next Sunday."

Wait. What? I gulped and did some figurin, calendar-wise and other-wise.

"Next Sunday, or the one after?" I asked.

"Oops! One week off," was the reply.

So, there's a little breathing room, but...

This is happening!

Preservation

Oh that we could capture this summer and put it in a bottle! The weather has been delightful, the garden generous, the time relaxing and fulfilling. But pickled cucumbers and canned tomatoes are not the same as their fresh-picked brethren. As good as they are, they are meant to be put away and enjoyed after this season has faded. Until then, let's enjoy every bite of summer.

Scar Tissue

My sister-in-law told me the other day that she thinks of the school year as kind of an open wound, and summer the time when it heals. Ouch! But, if she's right, I have finally reached the stage of my summer vacation where I have sufficiently recovered from not only the school year, but also all the fun of trips and visitors that followed it. I'm finally ready to get a few things done around the place.

Trouble is, there's quite a lot to do. Years ago, I left my annual summer to-do list on the counter when we were off to do something fun. When my sister-in-law came to feed the cats, she happened to see it. "You'll be lucky to get that done in ten summers," she told me later. She was right.

Just last night it occurred to me that a new strategy might be appropriate. As usual, I have a loooooong list of things I have to do, I'd like to accomplish, and things I like to do. Next to each item I put "finite" or "on-going". I also noted any task that was likely to take a significant amount of time. I figured the hardest part is usually starting, and knowing you can't finish something quickly is a great excuse not to begin. I also considered that (in the absence of a drop-dead deadline, which is always motivating) I do well with a regular schedule, so maybe it would be a good idea to plan to work on some of these chores for an hour a day until they get done. Few things are actually all or nothing.

So, I've canned a couple quarts of tomatoes. I've glued and sanded the deck chairs and put the first coat of paint on one. I've been to the attic and later to Goodwill. I've cleared out two drawers and one bookshelf in the guest room for Josh. I've read over my novel, found my notes, and added to them. I've played Words with Friends with my mom, Ruzzle with my sister, and Draw Something with Mary. I've written my blog, read a magazine and three chapters of Sally Ride's biography.

The day is not done, and despite the fact that our home improvement store had shelves and shelves full of mums-- tight budded and very green, but still-- there are still three weeks left in my vacation and plenty left to do.