“Summer Projects”

c. 2018 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-18)

Note To Readers: I recently had to replace the rope lights around my porch entrance, at home. This mundane task loosed emotions that had been penned up since winter. What follows here is the story.

It normally happens in July.

As I ponder that half the year has already gone by, a dreadful sense of being behind-the-eight-ball takes hold. I typically fret over the unaccomplished tasks on my list, and my own inability to tackle many of them with any hope of completion.

Then, the frenzy begins.

Having jettisoned notions of buying a new patio set with a canopy, for the back deck, I usually turn toward other ideas. Getting my motorcycle back on the road? Nope. My extra cash has gone toward trips to West Virginia. Putting a roof over the porch? Maybe. But only with the help of a friend who collects scrap like I collect vinyl records. Buying an iMac at long last, to escape the ever-present gremlins of my Microsoft PC? Doubtful. I reckon instead on another 12 months of wallowing in the flaws of Windows. Putting up a TV antenna for free, local channels to compliment my Roku? Again, my scrap-hound buddy would need to be involved. Replanting a stray tree to stand in for the ‘Whoville Pine’ that had been lost with a harvest of dead wood, weeks ago? Impossible without help. Using a shovel would tempt fate and probably have me falling in the grass. Whacking weeds around my tin-box domicile? I would need to buy my own machine. And hobble around sans my cane.

Bowed in surrender, I turn toward more meager goals after this seasonal ritual. Like the necessary painting of my porch.

Regular readers of this column will be familiar with the fact that I had to retire early, at the age of 55, due to health concerns. In particular, because my dwindling mobility made even routine chores nearly impossible to accomplish. So the thought of working outdoors seemed appealing but ill-advised. Still, I yearned to do something useful. Something of which I could be proud. Something that would restore my sense of independence.

Sprawled in bed, I pondered the job. In yonder days, I had been able to kneel and twist, while slinging redwood deck stain with a brush. But now, my left hip was shot. Both knees were exhausted. And my shoulders were creaky. Just getting myself from the porch to ground level involved much huffing and groaning while holding on to whatever could provide support.

A light bulb of inspiration came when I remembered my ladyfriend Janis talking about an extender she had seen for her paint roller. The pole was intended to be used when working on the outside walls of a house. I wondered to myself if the same principle might be inverted, to allow for coating my porch while remaining vertical.

“Eureka!” I whispered. As they used to say in cartoons of the 1960’s, “It’s so crazy that it just might work!”

With sunrise came a pot of coffee and a clearer head to think through my plan. I remembered that the old broom I used outside had a metal handle that screwed into its base. Removing the bristles gave me the simple extender I needed. A new brush, anchored with duct tape, completed this crude implement. It seemed likely to succeed, in theory at least. Though it looked like something from a Facebook meme about hillbilly life.

Would it work? Only real-time testing would yield an answer.

Armed with a screwdriver and the remnants of last year’s bucket of Behr liquid stain, I went outside. The morning was still friendly. Around 75 degrees. I opened the can, dipped my makeshift tool into the brown, chemical sap and… “Voila!” It was perfect. Suddenly, I felt stupid for not having tried this trick, before.

Wielding the paint brush at a distance of about three feet meant that my strokes were exaggerated. But the task went more quickly than when I had used a conventional approach. I had the porch, deck, ramp, side table and barn bench in the yard all done in about 30 minutes. The work was sloppy, yet acceptable for my rural neighborhood. Worthy of being christened with beer.

Only after finishing did I realize that the odd angles created by my broom/brush meant that the tool itself suffered in the process. The thing looked like an 80’s model with her hairdo trashed, after a long night of champagne and cigarettes. Once I had applied a second coat, it went into the trash bin. Still, my mission had been accomplished. The porch was painted and I could still walk without grumbling in pain.

My ex-wife once observed “Can’t you do anything without getting a story out of it?” Her question was nonsense when asked of a newspaper veteran. I reflected on her comment while snapping photos with my cell phone, in between sections of the porch. Even before cleaning up, I had begun to compose a page of creative text in my head.

Perhaps even more exciting than the thought of being able to conquer my disability was the knowledge that it would mean another writing project was close to being completed.

Comments about ‘Words On The Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P. O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024