The problem with perfection is that it has to be perfect.

I realized that over Father’s Day weekend while working on a project that I imagined could be easily completed and leave lots of time to do things that would be more creative than patching a ceiling that was cracked and flaking because of a roof leak. The roof was fixed this spring. Now it was time to get to the ceiling that looked like it had a bad case of poison ivy. My plan was simple. Spread drop cloths; scrape loose the blistered plaster; fill the rough spots; sand the section and paint it.

Simple.

But even then, the thought of imperfection – that gnawing question, “Will it come out right?” – was manifesting itself. Had I thought of everything? What grit sandpaper should I use? Should I do it by hand or with an orbital sander? Would the paint cover the blotchy stains that stood out like ocher clouds on white sky?

My project started at Salk’s. Harold listened to my plan and suggested I might try spackling compound instead of the plaster filler I had already picked out.

He held the two containers and handed them to me. The spackle was light. In fact, I thought it was empty.

“What would you rather be working with over your head?” he asked.

The answer was easy. I picked the spackle and a pliable plastic spreader.

If only I had had such advice from the store where I bought the paint, I would probably be writing about achieving perfection, if ceilings in old houses can be perfect.

I fortunately got another pointer from the least likely of sources – Charles Stoddard, an avid sailor. He called to remind, if not entice me, to register for a weekend of racing later this summer. When I told him what I would be doing on Father’s Day, I learned Charlie knows a lot about leak-stained ceilings and crumbling plaster, His advice was to seal the patched area with B-I-N sealer/primer to prevent further staining and to use a tennis ball.

Tennis ball?

“Yes, you’re going to be painting over your head and the paint is going to run down the handle of the brush.”

OK, what what’s a tennis ball got to do with it?

Charlie’s answer: cut the ball so it fits over the handle of the brush. It worked beautifully.

But plans have a way of setting their own course regardless of how well thought out and deliberative they may be. Sometimes, and those are the best of times, things just happen and the end product is a surprise; a surprise that is even better than imagined.

Serendipity can be a good thing, but not always.

I wasn’t going to leave spilled paint to chance, or the rain of paint and plaster I expected once I ran a putty knife across the ceiling. I strategically placed drop cloths, rolled back carpets, and moved furniture.

I set to work. The loose plaster followed by cookie-sized chips of paint snowed on the cloth and left my hair and shirt speckled – white on white. It’s what I expected, just as planned.

Larger chunks pelted down – not as planned – but not unmanageable. There were now holes to deal with.

Harold’s spackle was a welcome alternative to the much heavier filler that certainly would have dropped in wet globs. This was working.

With one of those cookie paint chips, I headed out to get the B-I-N and the paint.

I didn’t need to say a word.

The woman behind the counter took the chip and put it in the reader.

“It’s for a ceiling,” I said, “but white isn’t all the same.”

She nodded. She had a plan. She reached for a pint of ultra-flat white ceiling paint, put it in the paint shaker and retrieved a sponge cube from under the counter. She opened the can and placed a single dot of paint on the chip and then reached for a hair dryer. She handed me the chip. If I hadn’t seen her do it, I wouldn’t have known what was fresh and old paint.

“Actually,” she said, “there’s red in it. Shall I add it, or are you happy with the match?”

And that’s when perfection became unachievable. The match seemed perfect without a hint of red. I took the paint right from the shelf.

All the preparation went just as planned. The rough spots smoothed. The case of ceiling poison ivy was cured. I cleaned everything up. But now a white patch was clearly distinguishable.

How is it that getting to 90 percent isn’t good enough?

I know one of these days I’ll be back to get a can of ceiling paint with a touch of rose … then, maybe, it will be perfect.