Our story so far: We were in the midst of Phase Three of construction: Drywall, Paint & Flooring at the old Methodist church we were renovating into our dream home.
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I used to believe no shower felt better than the one you took after a thirty-hour trans-Pacific plane flight.
At one point in my marketing career, I took such flights regularly. I began the trip, usually before dawn, wrangling a huge suitcase and heavy computer bag. I’d drive or take a shuttle to the airport. Stand in lines, handle dirty money (all cash is dirty, even someone who’s not a Virgo knows), touch doorknobs and hand rails already touched by the thousands of other members of unwashed humanity, dine off of filthy seatback trays, drool on myself as I tried to sleep on the plane, change planes at least twice, usually four times (because there were no direct flights from St. Cloud, Minnesota, United States of America to Mount Ku-ring-gai, New South Wales, Australia), wait in the sunshine for another shuttle or cab to my hotel, stand in line to check in at the hotel and finally arrive at my destination a day and half after I began. If I could summon the energy, the first thing I did was take a shower. Oh that shower was sweet, washing off hours of exhausting traveling and disgusting germs, and I exited the shower a new woman.
I used to believe that shower was the best shower ever.
Until I sanded hardwood floors.
No shower feels as good as the one a rehabber takes after sanding 126-year-old wood floors for a few hours on the second story of an old church in 90-degree temps.
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Tomorrow: Layers of gunk. Check it out here.