French Quarter Green

I’m taking this week off work to get some things done around the house. My main objective is to repaint the porch.

As I noted previously, the paint has worn away at a surprising rate. I suspect it’s an inferior paint or simply not enough coats. I’m pretty sure there’s a layer of lead-based paint beneath the latex, and we don’t want to be tracking lead-paint dust into our home.

Rummaging amongst the cans of paint that came with the house when we bought it nine months ago, I quickly found what looked to be a half-gallon of the right color. I took it to Helm Paint and had them whip up a batch to match.

But when I got started the next day, I discovered the color was a bit off. I painted a test patch with the new paint, then another with the old paint, and neither of them matched the porch color.

Then it dawned on me — this was the color of our stairs, not the porch. I’d grabbed the wrong can. Back to rummaging, I found a rusty quart can that seemed to fit the bill. It was hand-marked, “Moorglo Essex Green 09643.” This time I painted a test patch immediately.

Xy had the car so I had to rely Howie for a ride back to Helm. (Thanks for the lift, man.) They told me this was a standard color — French Quarter Green. I had no idea we were living so fancy.

I’ve been making good progress, but the heat has been challenging. I knew it would be hot this week. It’s August in New Orleans, after all. What I didn’t realize was that we’d be in the middle of a record-setting heat wave. Not only is it miserably hot and humid, it also hasn’t rained for a good long while. I told a friend who moved here last fall that he would find the summer weather very predictable with our clockwork thunderstorms. “You can practically set your watch by them,” I said, but this dry spell is making a liar of me. That’s been helpful for painting, I suppose, though I miss the afternoon cool-down a shower can provide. Now I find I’m hoping the rain will hold off for another day.

But damn, this heat. Instead of dodging thunderstorms, I’ve been dripping sweat into the paint. I don’t think I’ve ever sweated so much in my life. Ordinarily my shirt gets sweaty on the chest and armpits, but after an hour of work in this heat, the entire shirt is soaked — not a dry inch on it. I have to take frequent breaks, and at the end of the day I’m exhausted. But I’m happy to be getting an important job done.