May 2015.
It’s week four of hand-painting Jennifer’s house. Our buddy, Paul, drummed up work all spring. He and I have already bid on a few more painting jobs. We’ve even invested in a power washer and a paint sprayer. Jennifer’s place required a lot of prep work, but we are well into the second coat now.
This morning Duwan and I woke up in KK’s house, where we are sitting Dave (a standard poodle) and Bob (a laboradoodle). The boys paid no attention as I went through my morning routine, but leapt up and started rough-housing as soon as Duwan woke up. As she came down the stairs Dave pranced ahead and Bob loped along behind him.
As I walk up the street to Jennifer’s I can barely see the sun through the morning haze. Cabbagetown stirs. People with real jobs drive off to work.
I climb my (borrowed) ladder and paint. A steady stream of dog-walking neighbors goes by. Some folks tell me to be careful up there. After a while I slip into the painting ‘zone’. Then Paul says it’s time for lunch. I walk back to KK’s.
Paul walks across the street to his house. He’s followed by Dora, his black one-eared cat. She has kept tabs on Paul all day. She gets quite vocal if he moves into some position that she considers dangerous.
Duwan is ‘home’, but not for long. She has been to the city Tool Bank to check out some supplies for a volunteer effort to paint neighbor Bertha’s house. She leaves to report in for her new waitressing job: two lunches a week, cha-ching!
After lunch I’m back on the ladder, slipping back into the ‘zone’. The forecast calls for an 80% chance of rain, but you never know on a summer afternoon. After a while I hear a rumble in the distance. Is it thunder or a train stopping at the CSX? Then we get a cool breeze. It was thunder. Time to pack up and call it a day.
After work I walk to Little’s neighborhood grocery for provisions. Duwan and I have two pet orientation appointments after supper tonight. One with a dog who doesn’t like me much. I must remind her of someone mean from her past. She does like bites of uncooked hotdog, though. Time to buy some love.
I walk out of Littles with a 12 pack of PBR and a single raw hotdog, and get hailed from across the street. Handyman neighbors Mark and Sam say that if I help them for a few minutes they won’t have to drive up to the Home Depot parking lot to recruit more muscle. Together we coax a washer/dryer combo down a skinny flight of stairs. Mark steps off to get our payment and Sam bums a beer. When Mark comes back I take a little (for the beer) and tell them to split the rest. C-Town Handyman Econ.
After supper Duwan and I go get oriented on house sitting duties, odd jobs, pet care, and most importantly, Wi-Fi passwords. Oh, the raw dog was a big hit.
