The door scraping is endless. I suppose it's obvious--but once again a reminder of how easy it is to abandon these chores mid-way. The final layer of paint removal seems imminent--but there is always more smoothing to be done. It does seem a bit mad to scrape off all paint only to re-paint again--but the bare wood is so old and weathered--it is practically crying to be covered once more--all the more reason to draw the scraping to an end.
But--before declaring that task accomplished, we took a break for another endless activity--mowing and weed-whacking. Actually, Sam, accomplished weed-whacker that his is, broke new ground, clearing out the jungle in front of the house--under the bedroom windows and on the incline. I prefer mowing myself--and did quite excellent work both in the front and back yards, though Sam did some important work on the hillside.
This will be the last round of work for a while as Sam is heading off to Cambridge to find an apartment for September and then off to Florida to visit Grandma Betty.
I drove him to Dover to catch a 5:30 train and then wound my way to Margaret's house on Cranberry Lake. I'd been there 25 years ago---but at night in the winter, and didn't realize that it was a perfect little house perched over the water. Sitting in the dining room (we went for a swim followed by dinner with Maddie and Margaret), it felt like we were on a boat.
Drove home in the dark as heat lightning flashed across the sky. Very dramatic.
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