The Washington Post, August 17th, 1997
It's just after 6, a blue August morning in western Maine, and I'm setting up the ladder on the north end of the house. It's a 32-foot aluminum extension job from Chick's Home Building Center, about as big as a person can handle alone, and unless I'm careful, it will clang down and startle my sleeping daughters awake. I am and it doesn't. I pick up the paint can and start to climb. August is my painting month. I don't go near a brush the rest of the year. In Washington, from September through July, I watch the paint peel on the bedroom ceiling and the cracks expand on the plaster in the hallwa...
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