Opening doors

Mr. B asked if I'd come over to the house this morning -- and of course I made it quick.

There he was, pulling wheat and chaff apart: culling what lumber was scrap and what could be used to finish up the exterior. Like Ref and like Shawn -- and like me -- Brantley uses everything but the squeal when he processes the pig.

So we went over the needs and the goods, and then we went over Shawn's instructions for the pouring of the deck piers this week (just a little pitch to take water away from the house).

And then I wandered inside the house, felt the breeze and marveled again: Yes, these are the living-room doors, finally installed, and finally open. They don't spread with a finger's touch -- the glass is a half-inch thick for hurricane resistance, for heaven's sake, weighing a lot at that size, and the handles aren't even installed yet -- but they roll smooth and evenly thanks to Shawn's skill and sweat.

That little chunk of wood on the left is almost the thickness of the future hardwood floor, just to show that everything will be even when the real deal is done.

I hope Shawn got an inkling of my amazement and gratitude before he flew home in time for Sunday church. I know Brantley was reading my mind when he saw that I couldn't stop grinning.