There ought to be a Polish proverb of this sort: you cannot rush an Ed because if you do, you’ll have yourself a Fred.
This would translate into something like – don’t even try to hint to Ed that the painting of the farmhouse project might fare better if something was done to move it along on a fairly (dare I suggest – daily?) basis. Because Ed cannot be hurried. If the person responded to attempts at hurrying, he would not be Ed, he’d be maybe Fred or Adam or some other dude.
As a result, the farmhouse currently looks like it has spotted farmhouse disease and, moreover, there are scraping/painting implements on the roof, inside on the stairs, by the porch, just outside the bedroom window – you name it, they are there.
Typically the way to move a farmette project along is to roll up your sleeves and contribute. But I cannot. My sensible time is spent thinking work thoughts. At other times, I cease to function with any degree of alacrity.
I know I once said that I preferred intense work schedules, so long as they are complemented by long periods (such as the summer) of nonwork, but that is a more difficult claim to make when I am in the "intense" time frame.
Ah well, at least the evening is delicate and lovely, on the Square, with daughter, over dinner (over a book before she shows up). One of the last Graze meals to be had outside this year.
And Rosie is there, in her usual off street parking spot...
...waiting to take me home, by the light of the moon...
...to the spotted house in the country.