And although in this photo it seems to be nice and shady and cool, it's not. It's an oven.
Or at least that's how it's felt to me the past couple of days as I've been standing inside painting interior window trim with the sun blazing through the windows. I can also verify that heat, in fact, does rise. It's about 20 degrees cooler sitting on the floor drinking a Gatorade than it is standing on the ladder painting teeny little muntins.
The alternative to slowly baking while I paint would be to wait until nightfall, I suppose. But then I'd be backlit by the shop light I drag around while painting (try putting cream paint on white trim without one and just see how many spots you miss) and because my house is a tad closer to the street than most, I'd be visible for blocks to anyone walking or driving down the street. Not to mention that occasionally, I engage in sudden fits of crazy dancing around the house whenever an INXS song comes on Pandora. I wouldn't want anyone to have to see that. I feel bad enough just putting that mental image in your heads, so I certainly wouldn't want to be held responsible for the psychological scarring that would surely happen if anyone actually saw that.
So, later on today after my giant nap, I'll be back up there painting. In the oven.