Saturday was the perfect day for a biennial project – painting the back porch. The humidity was low. There was a cool breeze. The sun was out. And I had the house to myself. Farrah wouldn’t be there to track across the freshly painted flooring.

The porch gives directly on the kitchen and is our main access. It’s fully exposed to the weather and conveniently reaching from it to a tree on the property line is a clothes line. For a long time a bird feeder hung from the line during the winter, but the squirrels always found a way of overcoming the height that infuriated our canine companion of the time that had a clear view from the glass porch door. Ollie was the exception.

Ollie was a spotted coon hound, and squirrels were beneath his caliber. He preferred tracking the scent of coyotes that had trotted across our yard or the raccoon that had unsuccessfully attempted to raid the nearby – also convenient to the kitchen – trash bin.  Or maybe it was some other critter. We never knew. He just loved tracking, which in spite of our efforts to keep him in the yard meant on occasion we were tracking him across the city.

But Saturday there was no dog and hopefully no uninvited critters.

I’m a believer that a lasting paint job requires careful preparation. The existing paint was chipped and peeling in places but mostly worn down. The decking was solid with nothing that a hammer and nail couldn’t solve.

As has been the routine, I would sand the floor using the orbital sander also used for the bottom of the boat. Unfortunately, the boat still sits in the yard, covered with a tarp ever since several back operations and most recently knee surgery has me visiting PT twice a week. But I’ve graduated to a cane, thankfully, and there was reason to believe painting the porch was within reach.

Besides, this was a project, and I could use a project that took me outside on this beautiful day. Painting also affords time for thought beyond the preparation and the processes of applying the paint and the forethought of where to start, cleaning the dirt from the spaces between boards that capture moisture leading to the rot of supporting beams and dealing with the tiny ants that invaded a section leading to the brick stairs and the sidewalk.

I was faced with a new challenge. Was I taking on a project I could physically complete?

Knowing one’s limitations is essential, but so, too, is pushing the boundaries. Going up and down stairs requires attention. A fall could be dangerous. Everything I needed was in the cellar. I made it in two trips. Then came the preparation. I chose to work from an overturned bucket that put me and the orbital sander close to the floor. It was happening. Then I needed to change discs, but without support I would have trouble getting up. How was I going to do that? Call a neighbor, but the phone was inside.  Roll over to the edge of the porch where I could stand up?

I hadn’t thought of everything, but I was pushing those boundaries that I hadn’t foreseen. I lifted some of my weight pushing on the floor and scooched my way on the bucket to the kitchen door, where I could grab the molding and get up. A plastic chair with arm rests became my platform for the rest of the project. I had kicked the bucket.

Had I made the right decision?

Indeed, this year’s porch project took longer than ever and my back tells me it was a stretch. The answer came after replacing the lid on the paint can and returning it and the tools to the cellar.

The porch wasn’t perfect, but it’s ready for at least another two years.

And from all the time pondering I concluded we need to identify the needs and the challenges, plan for them and vote every two years.