All about the stain
Today, the important word in our family vocabulary is stain. Not something soiled; the other kind, the treatment for wood that is like paint but isn’t. Moving along, now. Around the foundation of the house, the constructor wizards placed a plywood sheathing to protect the ICF blocks. Eventually, those wizards intend to install a fancier layer of siding, but until then we have to protect what we have. With stain.
Of course jobs like that tend to take longer than planned, what with visits from friends and people doing a drive-by solicitation of funds for a national charity. No matter. Now we’re past sundown, and I’ve just placed a very bright light outside to help those with brushes. Almost like something from a crime scene. I’d take photos, but that would step too close to a CSI scenario.
We could have done something equally extraordinary this afternoon (but we didn’t). There’s a huge garage sale underway this weekend, stretching out over a “70 mile path”. Obviously, that requires a car to participate. As well, the starting point is over an hour distant, and the list of treasures are going to disappear quickly. We considered the pleasure to be had from perusing hundreds of linear feet of other people’s expendable treasures. We weighed the pleasure against the pain, and opted to stay at home where staining is always an alternative.
Soon, there’ll be nothing left to stain, and we’ll have to find another way to pass the time. Something necessary to our survival. I’m ready, anytime.
