Whew

The bar is set high when you have a professional painter in the family, and you have to be bold to jump in after him. But I painted the entire porch floor and the front steps on Sunday morning.  Maybe not a perfect job, but Tom would be happy to see I didn't splatter any brown splotches on his blue or white trim.  He was a bit worried about that when he left on Saturday, for good reason.

I also realized I should take a picture of this perfect moment of completion, since the porch looks as good as it ever will until the next time we get around to painting it.  That will be several years from now (hopefully I can still crawl around on my knees) when the endless rotation of wood painting comes again to the front. Our little old house is an astonishing amount of work.

The decorative wood caps on the front pillars had fallen apart and on Saturday John found some unusual new ones at Alki Lumber.  He told me to come outside for a surprise, and then asked if I liked them.  Blue glass? What? Are you KIDDING? They are so ultra-cool, I wouldn't be surprised to see them popping up on copycat houses up and down the street. I hope he hammered them on good to prevent sticky fingers.

And now... finally on to more routine chores.
Here's a Monday morning sort of poem from Garrison Keillor's Writer's Almanac.

Cleaning the Bathroom 

Cleaning the bathroom is humbling and good.
Enamel and glass feel smoother than wood

as the mind, barely thinking, goes passive. Meanwhile
the hand, gliding easily over the tile

or toilet or mirror, finds tangible peace,
in the rhythm of rubbing, a kindly release

and the patience of porcelain fixtures can drain
what's flashy or fancy in favor of plain.

In style unpretentious, demeanor serene,
the bathroom is basic. Its function: to clean.

Phyllis Hoge