Not Gangrene, Too!
In between the worrying and the CNN-watching and last night's Punky Brewster-on-DVD marathon, I've been taking breaks to continue work on stripping the woodwork in the entry hall. In that process, I managed to give myself my first serious heatgun burn. I'd been listening to a novel about a Civil War battle and house-turned-hospital (The Widow of the South ... a fascinating book by a guy on the board of a house museum in Franklin, Tenn.), so when the burn turned into a bubbling red mess three days later, I was convinced I was getting gangrene and would have to bite down on a piece of wood while the army surgeons did their grisly work, then tossed my severed limb out the window onto the growing pile by the smokehouse.
Fortunately, a river of peroxide solved the problem, and my leg is healing nicely. No need for the surgeons, though I won't be surprised if I have a scar. Oh the suffering we endure for these houses.
And the work continues. The woodwork in the entry hall consists of two normal-sized doors, one 9-foot-tall window, the front door with transom (which makes it 9 feet tall), 1-foot-tall baseboards, a fireplace mantel, and a set of double doors the normal height and around 9 feet wide.
So far I've stripped most of the baseboards, most of the fireplace, most of the two normal-sized doors' trim, up to a height of 6 feet on the window trim, about 1/4 of the frame around the double doors, and ... oh, I'm tired of listing this stuff now.
As sporadic as my progress is, these two weeks of frenzied stripping interspersed with long patches of sitting-on-butt-and-watching-TV has made a big difference in the room. Instead of seeing an endless, hopeless project stretching before me, I've entered into that special zone where it feels actually possible to finish one day.