It’s pretty much accepted that nothing lasts forever. Not even an excellent residential paint job, and far less so one poorly done.

“You get what you pay for.” Truth is, sometimes you do and the onus is in not spending enough on materials or labor. Other times price is no rightful reflection of expectation.

Separately there’s the issue of professional competency versus do-it-yourself best effort. Unless taken down to bare wood, the challenge of properly repainting a domicile is in correctly correcting all previous attempts towards seamlessly finish coating what mistakes have already been perpetrated. Even when money’s no object and experienced workmanship is on board, mastering the chemistry compatibility of constantly changing environmentally compliant products is a project to project lengthy learning curve.

Then there’s the additional matter of finding someone willing to do the work, especially if the job’s small or complicated. Painting’s the easy part. Whether a professional or a weekend warrior, preparation’s the rub.

I wanted to have my house painted this summer but I couldn’t get anyone recommended to even return calls for an estimate. Though I thought I was acting early enough in the season, apparently I missed the boat for 2018. Another small life lesson learned. At least I now have a short list of professional painters who aren’t beating the bushes for work but obviously in demand. All things considered, this old house still looks mostly presentable and will weather well enough till next year. And then a year from now, if the contractor stars align, it’ll have a brand new appearance rather than one already diminished by a year gone by. Waiting another year to have it done will also gain an additional year’s distance from when that aspect of perpetual home maintenance will have to be procrastinated once again. Rationalization realized. Game, set, match, for now.

House painting used to be a full-time job. Literally. Once it was my bread and butter. Once, in particular, it played a crucial part in determining whether I would ever become a homeowner at all. Though “You are what you eat.” is a generally appreciated truth, many of us overlook the often less obvious fateful contributions of “We are what we do.”

Many years ago when trying to secure a VA loan to acquire my modest 19th-century fixer-upper in desperate need of complete renovation, top to bottom, the government sticking point was that, despite far more pressing structural concerns, the outside needed to be painted before any financial assistance went forward. The fact that the property transferal was taking place in the dead of winter also didn’t enter into the bureaucratic calculus.

Against my realtor’s advice that I just comply, I decided to petition the powers that be, pointing out that attempting to paint the house in freezing weather would be a costly and futile exercise that I’d have to redo in short order, and that I was actually presently employed as a house painter, knew a bit about such matters, and feared I would likely lose out to the seller’s other offers if closing was delayed. Hard to believe, but the response was to simply issue a waiver asking me to properly paint the structure “ASAP.”

A grateful shout-out to the many true angels in government service.

Being able to undertake the painting of my home myself was one of those very things that sadly don’t last forever. Whenever I did, native acquaintances would always assume I was planning on selling the property. Why else would an entire residence be painted? For some, periodic renovation over preventive maintenance is a preferred Maine tradition that definitely saves on paint. For others the traditional method of painting is to do one side one year and the others in turn as needed to spread out both cost and labor. For many, neither practice is within their means. That all too common lack of means created the unfortunate circumstances by which I could fortunately afford this house in the first place. Hopefully I myself don’t end up having to see my property slowly revert back to the impoverished state in which I purchased it.

I can remember the not so distant days when after proudly repainting my house a targeted mailer or phone query would nevertheless insist that it still needed professional intervention. That was when the economy was truly booming and an abundance of contractors were eagerly competing for work amid the din of what once was summer’s siren song of ubiquitous College Pro signs.

Fortunately, I can still do a lot of what’s easily accessible, but the glory days of standing on the top rung of a 40-foot ladder to Hail Mary a final brushstroke are now long gone.

I hear tell that Maine’s oldest population will soon be cornered by an ever increasing “youth drain” and economically our greatest challenge is in maintaining a sufficient work force for our collective fundamental needs. Nothing lasts forever, but hopefully the days of able and affordable alternatives to now declining DIY capabilities haven’t become another of life’s endangered expectations.

Fingers crossed for next year.

Gary Anderson lives in Bath.