7:30pm, Monday-
SHERRY: The floors are looking great so far, don’t you think?
JOHN: Definitely. Right, Burger?
(Burger stands in silent agreement)
SHERRY: Do you think it’s strange that there’s no baseboard along the brick?
JOHN: No, it’s fine.
SHERRY: Yeah, you’re right. It’s fine.
11:00pm, Monday-
SHERRY: I’ve been thinking — it really is odd that there’s no baseboard there.
JOHN: What? No, it looks fi—
SHERRY: TOTALLY weird.
JOHN: Okay. So what do you want to do?
SHERRY: Get a baseboard and have the floor guys install it.
JOHN: But the floor guys’ last day is tomorrow and we can’t buy any baseboards tonight because Lowe’s closed an hour ago.
SHERRY: Can you grab one tomorrow morning before work?
JOHN: Do you think they even make that kind of baseboard anymore?
SHERRY: You’re right. I should come with you. But we’ll have to be back before the installers show up at 7:30.
(Here come the famous last words.)
JOHN: Well, Lowe’s does open at 6am…
And that’s how we found ourselves in the wood cutting department at 6:21 this morning. We were both half-awake, cups of coffee still working their way through our systems, but determined. The house felt like it was holding its breath — the new floors gleamed in the dim morning light, and without the baseboard the edge along the brick looked exposed, unfinished. Sherry couldn’t shake the feeling that the detail mattered, that the small line of trim would pull the whole room together.
Standing in the store, we surveyed the selection of trim. There were different profiles, heights, and finishes, and the sheer variety was a little overwhelming at that hour when the rest of the neighborhood was still asleep. We ran our fingers along samples, comparing thickness and grain, imagining how each piece would sit against the brick and the new hardwood. We talked quietly about measurements and installation — about whether to paint the new board to match the existing trim or to stain it to coordinate with the floor. Practical considerations were mixed with the small satisfaction that comes from making a seemingly minor decision that would actually matter in the finished space.
The cutting station smelled faintly of sawdust and machine oil, a comforting, honest smell that seemed to belong in a place of building and fixing. The employee operating the saw was courteous and efficient, asking us for exact measurements and offering tips on how to transport and protect the boards on the drive home. He confirmed that the floor installers could install the same profile and that getting the piece in sooner rather than later would be best. We appreciated the help — it made an early, slightly frantic trip feel manageable and well-directed.
Back at the house, with the board in hand, we had time to think about how much attention we had paid to details over the course of this renovation. Small decisions had added up: choosing the right finish for the floors, lining up the grout color just so, deciding where to place outlets and furniture to balance function and flow. The missing baseboard had nagged at Sherry more than it might have bothered someone else, but that attention to detail is what had carried us through other choices as well. The installers arrived on schedule, and with the extra piece ready they were able to complete the job without delay.
That morning felt like a lesson in preparation and timing. Sometimes a tiny gap — literally a sliver of missing trim — can reveal how much we care about the spaces we live in. And sometimes, a store that opens at six and a friendly employee with a cutting saw are the difference between a finish that looks merely done and one that feels right. We learned, once again, that projects rarely follow a neat script, but a little early rising, decisive action, and cooperation can close the loop.
As we stepped back to admire the finished edge where brick met baseboard, the room finally looked complete. Burger gave us the same quiet approval he gives most domestic accomplishments — a patient, steady presence in a house slowly becoming exactly what we want it to be.