Then he cracked open a fresh quart of white exterior latex and started painting the trim around the front door in slow, careful strokes.

“A house looks sloppy when the doorway’s peeling,” Bob called to me through the screen.

I came out onto the porch with an aluminum ruler and a pencil to measure the hall rug.

“You haven’t painted that trim in five years,” I said.

“Which is exactly why I’m doing it today,” he said, wiping a little drip of white paint off the doorjamb with his rag.

“A house needs looking after if you want it to hold its value.”