Still doing volunteer work for HFH. I mostly paint doors all day, every day. From one house to the next. Have you ever counted the doors in your house? A modern sticks and bricks house? Every regular bedroom has 3 doors minimum – 1 entry door and 2 closet doors. The master bedroom has 3 also – 1 to the walk-in closet, 1 to the master bath and 1 entry door. The hall bath has 2 – one entry and one to the towel closet. The living room has at least an entry door and coat closet door. The laundry room has 3 – entry doors to the garage and the house and a door to the water heater. The kitchen has a pantry door. Don’t forget the back door. That means that a small 3 bedroom house has 17 doors. Do the math there if you don’t believe me! Or count your doors. You may have more, including a door to the basement.

5 houses x 17 doors  =  85 doors that I am painting. At least.

90 doors if you also count the side door from the garage to the outside, which I am not painting.

95 doors if you count the actual rolling garage door, which I also am not painting. 

Some of my handiwork:

Closet door

Don’t know why the doorknob hole looks so low!!!??? I think it is an optical illusion but I will check tomorrow.

Need I say that the work is repetitive and that I could do them in my sleep now; after all, I am in my second week of painting doors! Eggshell white. Not everyone would enjoy that, but I find it almost contemplative. As I prepare my paint tray and roller, life slows down. I saunter to the next door that needs painting and start once again. Roller into the paint tray. Roller across the door. Dab the drip. Roller into the paint tray. Roller across the door. Dab the drip. Most of the time now, I also listen on my phone/headset to Audible books. I am alternating every hour between a historical fiction book and the awesome “Big Magic”, by Elizabeth Gilbert (Eat, Pray, Love”). This is about writing from a masterful writer, one of my favorites. Gilbert also narrates the book, which gives it so much more authenticity. I am so blessed to be hearing “Big Magic”, at this point in my life when I am wondering what to write next, if anything. Thanks to the inspiration in this book, there will be something, anyway.

Roller into the paint tray. Roller across the door. Dab the drip. Roller into the paint tray. Roller across the door. Dab the drip.

Roller into the paint tray. Roller across the door. Dab the drip. Roller into the paint tray. Roller across the door. Dab the drip.

An honest day’s work and great arm exercise.

I still don’t love the group dynamics. The long-termers (volunteers should be turning over every two weeks but some people have nudged themselves into the RV spaces for the winter), including the groper and his shunning girlfriend that I wrote about before, have some weirdnesses going on that have nothing to do with me or anyone else. They are an odd hard-drinking little clique. The others, bless their hearts, are nice normal people and hard-working volunteers. White privilege folks with ultra high-end RVs. The only problem: they are all married and they tend to brag about their white privilege lives. And that is not really a problem unless you are not married and also take pride in being different –far different — than normal white folk. I remain dedicated, however, to finishing out my commitment and making note of the many learning moments. Note to self from the other day: avoid large volunteer groups of nice, normal married people. You don’t fit in. Even if they are also mostly fulltime RVers. You are out of place.

It is comforting to know that on a gorgeous day in Las Cruces, NM, nice, normal people are doing a good job cutting and installing closet shelves for the future homeowner!

Well, it is an untruth to say I am finishing out my commitment. I decided to leave Saturday morning. We are supposed to work Saturday but I decided a one day reprieve would be a reward for not fleeing sooner. Afterall, this is a real improvement for me. In my younger, immature days (like 2 years ago) I would book immediately if I didn’t like something. Adios. 

Besides, my driving fingers are getting itchy, even though snow still falls up north and night temps are mostly below freezing. I am ready to roll.

And, where is Tango during all the endless painting? He has a shaded lounge area across the street from the houses, on a vacant lot where I park my well-loved, dented, and aging van! I see him during breaks and lunch. Such a sweet, patient little guy looking all buff with his summer hairdo!