The painting of the house is coming along. Slowly, very slowly because I'm doing almost all the work by myself. This is the first time I've ever painted this building. No, it's not the first time I've had it painted, it's the first time I did it myself. Twenty two years ago it was painted when I hired the old woman next door and her son to do the job. I did feel bad seeing that old lady out there in the heat, rolling on the paint, but better her than me. I say 'old woman' with this qualification, she was younger than I am right now. I had the place painted again about nine years later by Mark and a buddy of his. Yes, Mark. I know, hard to believe. Anyway, now it's my turn to do the work, mostly because I have no extra money to throw around.
So for the last three weeks I've been out there taking my time, slowly making my way around the house painting the fascia and eaves. I haven't even started on the walls yet. Part of the reason it's taking so long is because of all the foliage that has grown up around the place in the last two decades. On the west side of the house I literally had to whack my way in there with saws, hatchets, and branch cutters. It was like one of those old Saturday Morning Tarzan movies where the Europeans hire a bunch of natives to hack their way into the jungle. Except in this movie, I'm the native and Mark is whitey. I have gashes on my legs, cuts on my arms, and my right ankle is hurting like something might be broken in there. I keep stepping off the ladder, mistakenly from the wrong rung, and falling into the weeds. The worst part about it is the uneven ground around the place. It's very hard to paint while the ladder is wobbling around under you. Yesterday I finished the fascia and eaves and just as soon as I go buy the paint, I will be starting on the walls. And believe it or not, Mark has said he'll help me. Yes, I know. It sounds like a bad joke.