Living with Lockdown - 23

There have been many changes on our property since lockdown began. The most evident is the transformation of a neglected wooden home that has not seen a paintbrush or varnish for years - we estimate 20, as time certainly flies. We aren't going to point any fingers as to the neglector, but suffice to say it wasn't me. I am not a housepainter, carpenter, tiler, or labourer by trade, nor do I consider it my duty to climb a ladder to clean an upstairs window. A hose will do, at least when there are no water restrictions, and staying next to the sea makes window cleaning a thankless task anyway. 

However, suffice to say the house was in a shocking condition and we were pressganged by the owner (He Who Can Fix Anything) from the first day of lockdown. With no means of escape, despite three vehicles waiting in the driveway, we removed garage doors, erected scaffolds, used angle grinders and sanders on every plank and window frame to remove years of peeling varnish and reveal bare wood, replaced split planks and rotten frames, and then varnished (three coats) and painted the white trim (two undercoats and two paint), doing one side of the house at a time. None of this was fun and took place under duress, but hysteria sometimes took over and the three of us (me and the kids) would laugh into our paint pots and wobble on the scaffold as we discussed various accidents that might befall HWCFA. 
Our fitness levels soared as we scaled the scaffold, agile as an artiste from Cirque de Soleil, but without the ribbons to safeguard us from a fall. We discovered aching muscles and tendons we never knew existed, and by 9pm were fast asleep. We wore the same paint-spattered clothes for days, nobody needed makeup or hairdos. The neighbours must have gone crazy from the noise but, hey, they all renovated their homes over the space of a year and at least they weren't the ones up the ladder grinding six days a week with a concession of only the soft swish of brushstrokes on a Sunday.
All of this required me to provide three meals and two teas and cake every day, combined with normal household duties as well as my share of the painting. To say that our sense of humour evaporated at times is putting it mildly and I often tested the weight of a frying pan in my hand.
Six weeks on, and Level 4 arrived. HWCFA and daughter went back to work. The remaining slaves continue the final touches, the fiddly bits, the parts that are unreachable. Today my son perched on a plank on the double storey scaffold and I held on to his pants while he sanded the gable. He told me that my grip was what separated him from life and death. Such confidence he has in me. Yet all went well, the house is looking brand new, and we have nobody watching our every move. There is time to sit quietly in the garden and watch the birds, the clouds, and the magnificent sunsets that characterise this part of the world in May.