Well today I finally finished as much of the siding as I can do down at the home farm. Huh-ZAH is all I can say about that. I couldn't gather quite enough courage to go up past the second storey into the attic roof peaks, that I have to leave for the spousal unit, but I did manage to psyche myself to paint up two storeys.

Never, ever again. Somehow, when I volunteered, I forgot that this is a freaking HUGE house�on the right side there's an "L" shaped wing that is as large as the front that you see when you drive up.

If it had been just a matter of slapping some paint on, it would not have been so bad. It was the rest of it--scraping the flaking paint, priming all the bare wood, washing everything I could reach with tri-sodium phosphate and then painting. For someone with my fear of heights, having to climb up and down the ladder so many times because of all the steps involved was exhausting.

Now all that's left is the bazillion windows plus 16 miles of soffit which have to have their trim painted white. I exaggerate. There's actually only 1 bazillion windows and eight miles of soffit. Fortunately, I only have to do the ground floor stuff.

Whew.

I am legendary for getting paint on myself. The spousal unit jokes that for any paint job I do he has to add 10% to the paint total for what I will get on myself. Yesterday I did one better and actually managed to get red paint on the butt and tail of my mom-in-law's dog, Shadow.

I'm not exactly sure how this happened, but I suspect that she sat on the lid of a paint can I'd just opened. I tried to get a buttal view to show the dog's punk rock derri�re, but whenever she sees me she turns to face me and offer her ball for my consideration.

Heee, the ball. Yesterday the spousal unit was down at his mom's doing some small repairs when a brief rain shower blew in. He sat on the front porch waiting for it to be over and to pass the time threw the dog's ball for her. She joyously bounded after it, ran back and dropped it on the porch floor so he could do it again. Sitting by them on the porch was my mom-in-law's cat, Abigail, a tiny gray tabby.

On one of her trips the dog dropped the ball and it rolled near the cat. The cat said, "Forsooth, a ball," as cats are wont to do. She reached out her paw, and drew the ball in to her chest.

The spousal unit said the dog almost had a heart attack. The dog stared at the cat and then looked at the spousal unit with an expression of shock and horror that said, "Did you see that? The Cat Has Stolen My Beloved Ball! MAKE HER GIVE IT BACK."

Yep, a humungous German Shepherd, perfectly capable of snapping any cat in two with one crunch of her jaws, was completely and utterly intimidated by about three pounds of tabby. The spousal unit said he laughed so hard at the dog's consternation that he almost peed himself.

The cat watched the dog with Sphinx like calm. She quietly made her point that she is The Master of the Universe, then got up and did one of those full body cat stretches that pretty much says, "You are much, much too boring. I am so out of here." She went off to hunt in the tall grass by the railroad tracks. The dog snatched her ball indignantly and went off for a sulk.

And I am off for a long leisurely soak in the tub. It is so very, very good to have broken the back of that hateful painting job.

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 873.93 miles. Over half way there. Oh, man, please let this be over