The incantation of whining has forced progress on the deck

I had a bit of a meltdown yesterday.

It looks as if nobody else is going to help with Jeff Brown.  There he sits in my yard, waiting to go into the water, and the days have been gorgeous!  So much time he could have spent on his mooring, being the envy of tourists, fiberglass boat owners, and lovers of old Noank sloops.  (the Mysic wooden boat show is this weekend—he should be out there at the mouth of the river showing off!) As a matter of fact, Chip Anderson’s boat Winsome just got an article published on it in the paper. Chip and I are in the same boat (ahahahaha) in that Winsome isn’t in the water yet either.  Chip says that the designer of Jeff Brown (back in 1888) was also the designer for the plans for Winsome, which makes sense since they are both the “Noank sloop” model, quite famous here.  But who gets the glory?  Not Jeffie and I, noooooooo.

So yesterday when Paul came over I gave him an earful about not having enough time (which I don’t), and it being too hot to sand the deck (which it is) and that none of the sanders worked well enough to get it smooth (which they don’t) and the heat gun wouldn’t get the paint off easily enough (which it didn’t) and that I was just about as sick as I could be with this project (which I am) and what was he going to do about it.

Actually the coup de grace came the day before yesterday when, fighting with the 8” disc sander, it flew out of my hands and bit me on the leg.  That was the end of the 8” disc sander.

Or so I thought.

Paul is an old water rat and nothing fazes him, especially a hysterical woman whining about a boat.  He then said “Well, if it were me I would have just slapped a coat of paint on it and put it in the water, but you wanted it all smooth . . .” at which point I wanted to smack him but I refrained, and said “Is that really okay?  To just paint it even if it’s lumpy?”  He said “Fine with me.”

I also asked if I could sand and prime in sections so I wouldn’t get too discouraged, since the frigging paint peels right up again if you leave your nice sanded work for a day without priming.

He said sure.

He also said he’d come by this weekend and “see what he could do” in re: the 8” disc sander which he thinks will work like a charm on this deck.

I followed him down the driveway vowing that I could undo his cheery and positive attitude if I tried hard enough, but he just chuckled and got in his truck.

So last night I dragged all 3 sanders, Papa Bear, Medium 5” Bear, and Detail Bear, up with me on the deck along with the primer, a broom, and a dental pick, and, holding all VERY firmly, sanded the bejeezus out of the area from the prow to the whatsis—the metal bar that holds the jib line and lets it slide back and forth.

Bow not so bad.  Note the whatsis.  What IS that thing called???

You can see what kind of a fun time Jeff is going to have with me at the tiller, can’t you?

Anyway, when I was done I was quite proud—the sanding job proved way smoother than I thought it would be (I made sure to use "Mr Green"--an 8" disk so nubby I thought it was going to cut right through to the hold), a section was done, and I am looking forward to section #2—all the way to the front of the hatchway.  Then on to caulking, which I am getting quite good at, and doesn't involve any round 8" discs leaping out of my hands and aiming for my shins.

Paul has also promised to bring paint soon so I can do the parts he is not farting around with (like the stem).

I realize that I do this a lot, this response of mine—it has been a lifelong habit—scream and kick and whine and say I  can’t do it it’s too hard, then breathe a little, look at the thing again, wade in, and it’s never as bad as I think it will be.  But why do I still need the screaming and kicking part?  It’s almost like a ritual, a spell.  The incantation of whining, to insure a positive outcome.

There must be a pill for this.