My dad’s a retired general contractor, which means most of my childhood memories revolve around furniture and housebuilding projects. Those fashionable adolescent years were spent with roofing nails in my nail apron, pulling splinters out of hands with a Swiss Army knife and taking out all kinds of teen angst on black tar paper with a slap tacker.
Mom on the other hand was a furniture refinishing MACHINE. That woman can find a yard sale dresser and turn it into a piece of art in mere days. Wood glue, sandpaper, paint and some faux finishing tools ranging from hair combs to feathers to shop rags were here tools of choice.
Fast forward to me now – living in a house built in 1883 with a kitchen that was added in the 1930s. The only thing I own older than this house is some pre-Columbian pottery my old land lady in Mexico gave me that I didn’t know was illegal to leave the country with (but we won’t talk about that now will we). I practically live in a set made for the This Old House show! Horse-hair plaster sprinkles into my tea set in the cabinets, the cats go scavenging for house centipedes the size of a man’s shoe in the basement, and I lack a carriage or a horse to stow in my otherwise useless carriage shed at the end of the drive. Well, that’s where we keep the tall ladder and the spare fridge (huh?) so it’s not totally useless. Just mostly. 😉
Earlier this month Spring Fever soared to new heights and I decided to tackle a painting project in the guest bedroom, which is really the cats’ napping room by day and their not-so-secret hideout by night. When we closed on the house we used this room as the home office, and painted it a lovely burgundy. A two coats of primer and I can still see burgundy, burgundy. *sigh* It was young love and I never imagined I’d want to switch to a lighter color for this room.
Good thing Tita likes it or we’d be in trouble!
Scope creep has taken me down the cellar stairs with paint brushes in hand. Up next: I’m going to paint the kitchen cabinets, inside and out, even if it kills me.
I’ve already sought spiritual assistance from my friend with church connections. HELP! Martha Stewart has possessed my body.
Call me when the lovely people with straightjackets arrive.