A couple members of the church came by in the morning to paint the porch this morning. With the weather being what it has been, (and a steady stream of pies being brought to the church for a Cattlemen's function), I was reminded of those warm, lazy times of Mark Twain's American South. My inner monologue had a field day with Tom Sawyer:
"The Parson's real particular about this porch, seein' as it's out front on the street and all, where's everyone's gonna see it. It best be done right. The Parson's real particular about it; not anyone who's fixin' to paint would be welcome. I reckon only the righteous could do the job..."
And that's how I got suckered into doing the trim work. I sure's done a mighty fine job, though.