t only took me three years, but the glacial pace of remodeling the church finally got me to cry "uncle." I've finished putting up maybe about 30-40% of the ceiling planks, and one night reached the Ralph Nadir of despair. I climbed off the scaffolding after spending three hours working at a single row of wood, and decided I needed help. I called a contractor who is (through a lot of marriages and genealogical gymnastics) related to me. I had seen other work he had done, talked with several customers (all satisfied) and hired them to attack the ceiling - or at least get me over the hump.

Sally was totally on board, as she had gotten tired of hearing the constant whining about my knees killing me, or the stream of curses when I'd drop a tool and have to climb all the way down to retrieve it.

They arrived around noon today. Two guys - one skilled, the other learning the trade. They'll use their own tools, but I told them to use my scaffolding (I have a handsome collection at this point).

I'm working at home for the moment, so I can answer any questions and yes, be totally annoying and watch how they do it to see how professionals solve the same problems Andrew tried and failed at. I'd like to think with enough brain power and time one can logically find the most efficient way to solve pretty much anything, but that solution doesn't always end up being easy. The work they're doing is costing a pretty penny per hour, and I'm trusting my house to their skills. I'm nervous and excited, and feeling a bit emasculated at not being able to do it all myself. Essentially I'm feeling sorry for myself when I should be totally excited that something is finally happening up there without me having to do it.

Anyhow, I walked up there after a bit and asked if they needed anything. The older guy yelled down from up in the trusses: "Yeah - How in the hell did you do all this?"

Hah. Maybe not so emasculated.