This post is actually about Tuesday. There's a reason why I didn't get around to writing it until after midnight on Tuesday night/Wednesday morning. And there's a reason why there's no photo of Tuesday's progress with this post.
See, I was waaaaay up on the ladder on the east side of the house, putting dark green paint on the last little part of the frieze board when I heard someone say, "Well now, you musta gotten over your fear of heights." I looked down—because I'm not so afraid to do that now—and there stood Mare in my side yard. Y'all remember Mare, the Porch Elf who helped me demolish my old porch and build my pretty new one. He's back in town doing some other restoration work. And as usual, we had one of those conversations that almost, but not quite, makes me forget that he's one of those people who's better in very small doses:
Me: "I gotta tell you somethin!"
Mare: "I gotta tell you somethin, too!"
Me: "About that porch?"
Mare: "The one we built?"
Me: "On our old house, yeah. Didya see it?!"
Mare: "I saw it!"
Said together: "What the hell?!"
Mare: "What's he doin? What's he thinkin?"
Me: "Don't know. We built that porch to last forever."
Mare: "And he called me. Left a message, but no explanation."
Me: "Let's just go up there."
So we did. Go up there, I mean. To the house up the street that Mare and I lived in and worked on together. The house which had, when Mare bought it, a long Victorian porch stretching across the front of the house until he tore off that porch and we built a much smaller one in better keeping with the style of an 1839 Greek Revival. That porch is still there on the house, but the pineapple-motif railing that Mare made himself and we put around the porch roof is gone. So are the small windows on either side of the second-floor door that opens onto that porch roof. The lower half of the door is covered with a big sheet of plastic held in place by black electrical tape. We stood there on the sidewalk playing Paper-Scissors-Rock over who was going to go knock on the door until I grabbed Mare by the arm and pulled him down the brick walkway with me. "Knock!" I said. "You knock!" he said back. I frowned. He knocked. No one answered the door. Darnit. So we walked across the street and sat on the steps of the Christian Church (the one the Kellys who built my house attended) and critiqued our former house.
Me: "I like the yard and the flowerbeds. It's a whole lot better than the weeds we had."
Mare: "It sure is....but the house could use some paint."
Me: "And a new porch rail, apparently."
Mare: "Look at all those drapes in the windows."
Me: "I heard on good authority the drapes in the right-side parlor have mercury-glass tiebacks."
Mare: "That money woulda bought a lot of paint."
Me: "The house needs a lot of paint."
Mare: "The house needs the old porch rail back. And I need a cold beer."
So we walked down the street to the bar and had a couple of cold ones while continuing the discussion about old houses and restoration and the likelihood (slim to none, we agreed) that the owner of our old house was calling Mare about hiring him to rebuild the porch. By the time we got back to the Kelly House it was just before midnight.
And that's why this post is about Tuesday and there's no photo.