Been There, Done That: Porch problems

Dave and I finally paid off our mortgage after 28 years. Yay! And promptly went into debt with new windows, roof and siding. Yay? Yes, yay! We’re really planning for light bills of about half what we’re used to. Aesthetically, our house has much more curb appeal now. That’s been a long time coming. But just like when we got the new couch 20 years ago, everything else starts looking shabby in comparison. Stuff I never noticed before now sticks out like a sore thumb.

Back then, the simple acquisition of a couch prompted a full-on overhaul of the living room, complete with new carpet, paint, tables, lamps, curtains, the whole kit and kaboodle. This time, it’s just the porches that are looking old and worn out.

Fortunately, the new siding meant new ceilings, soffits and fascia on both. The front porch needs new paint on the two posts and around the door. I’m not worried about the floor right now; it’s got bigger issues than we can fix at this point. We don’t use the front door anyway.

The back porch has three posts, back and front of the top boards along the ceiling and a mud board along the side of the steps on the outside and one board high on the inside. The floor needs repainted, too. It was freshly painted when we moved in, and I recall doing it once since then. It way needs it.

According to the weather forecast, the coming weekend was supposed to be gorgeous — 75 and sunny. No rain in sight. The forecaster also foretold that this was the last weekend for the foreseeable future that this would happen. I needed 75 and sunny so the paint would dry. We had to do this now.

I busied myself gathering paint, trays, rollers, brushes and rags. I put on old clothes and recruited Dave to help me move all our potted plants off the back porch. Then I proceeded to lose my mind. I was barking orders trying to get a cooler so I could unload the little freezer and get it moved, and I needed a dolly to move the Coke machine, and how were we going to move Denny’s bench, and … and … and …

And our son stepped in and shut me down. “There’s no way you’re getting all of this done in one day or even one weekend,” he said. “Calm down and just concentrate on the white paint on the back porch.”

OK, never in the history of ever has anyone ever calmed down after being told to calm down. But eventually, I removed my head from my backside and they brought me a ladder so I could get busy on my prep work: cobwebs, a few leftover nails and staples, and scraping away loose paint. The ladder they gave me was the flip-floppy one we got at a recent yard sale. It’s supposed to do all kinds of different things. All I know is it hurt my feet. The steps weren’t wide enough. So I folded it up into fourths and left it on the floor while I went to get the fiberglass one. As I was setting it up, our son noticed the flip-floppy one. “What did you do to it?!” Apparently, it’s only supposed to be folded in half, not fourths, which would explain why it was crying softly to itself on the floor.

Four hours of prep work later, the porch was ready for paint. My arms were already exhausted. I hung onto the ladder with my left hand and painted with my right, until a pinching cramp started in my shoulder. I’m going to have to switch off, but my left hand doesn’t know how to paint. Well, it’s about time to learn.

I spent a lot of time switching off between the brush and a cup and the roller and a pan, up and down the ladder, move it a bit, back up and back down. So the afternoon and early evening went. I had accomplished the white paint on the back porch, thanks to our son for helping me to focus.

The next day, I planned to tackle the front porch and a little hole in the foundation left by the incompetent basement dude. The hole was at the foundation level, accessible by crawling into the “hole” in our driveway, which is how we get to the basement/root cellar. There’s a wooden ramp, but no steps. The ramp is pretty steep, so on the rare occasion when I go down there, I creep down the dirt pile, hugging the wall and hanging onto the root sticking out, left over from our former tree.

I tossed down the materials I’d need to fill that 2-foot by 2-foot gap in the foundation. I used the hard foam pieces our computer had been packed in, which are watertight and flexible but sturdy. They did a fine job of patching that issue, and it was time for me to go topside again. The amount of liquid courage it had taken to get me into that hole in the first place was hindering my ascent to solid ground. I tossed all my stuff up and grabbed hold of the root, which pulled right out of the ground. OK, the ramp it is. I managed to crab-walk to the top, but before I could crawl out, I slid all the way back down and scraped my arm on the cinder block wall.

And hollered for Dave. Fortunately, the windows were open and he heard me. He poked his head off the back porch and asked what I needed. Uh, help up out of this hole? Unbelievably, he said he’d have to put his shoes back on and wasn’t too keen on that. Fine, don’t help me, but you’ll be looking for some help of your own if I manage to get out of here.

Eventually, I was able to crawl up to the driveway about the same time he had gotten his shoes on and was standing in the driveway to haul me up out of there. Good boy. He even helped me find some first-aid spray for my scraped arm. We can paint the back porch floor at some other point, I’m done for right now.

Laura Nethken
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