For months I’ve been looking at that spot. The one on the wall in my living room. I even had a major holiday with that spot on the wall and I’m sure all the relatives were checking it out and are now discussing amongst themselves how far I’ve let my home go. In order to prevent a full-scale intervention by the family into my household activities, I decided that this was finally the week to take care of it.
Now, I don’t mean a hole in the wall; nothing so crass. I just mean that there is a scrape on the wall which removed the calm, quiet cream color I have on the living room walls now and revealed the somewhat wilder shades of purple mix I had there in my younger days. It was a rather large scrape and it was in the approximate shape of an “s”; I presume standing for shabby.
However, as I said, I decided that this week was the one to get rid of the accidental purple artwork on the wall, so I decided to paint. Roy is busy with outside projects, but that’s all right; I was capable of painting on my own.
I maintained that attitude right up until I began to prepare the room. By the time I had hauled all the knickknacks out, found places in the rest of the house for small furniture and lamps and battled and killed all the spiders with homes in the corners of my ceilings, I was ready to admit that I wouldn’t mind some help.
But, I knew that I could do it. After all, except for the s-shaped purple spot, the rest of the room would be painted back to the same color as before. How simple is that? Except that I couldn’t find exactly that same shade. That meant it would be tougher to paint, because I have trouble getting an even result when I have to paint one color over the other.
Never the less, that big purple s was staring at me and I decided that a different color (even with a small difference) was better than that inadvertent art by a careless chair.
Then came my least favorite part. Taping around the edges. I’m such a sloppy painter that it is essential that I tape. I didn’t have any of that great blue tape and I was too lazy to go back out and get some, so I used some wide masking tape I found at the back of a drawer instead. That tape was pretty sticky. It stuck to everything except the woodwork. I taped my fingers, my clothes, my hair and the cat’s tail. The blasted tape stuck poorly to the edges of the woodwork and the only time it held firm was at the end when I tried to tear it off. Then it either came off along with the finish of the wood, or it remained adhered to the wood in tiny little shreds that no amount of picking, begging or cursing could remove.
Once I had the edges taped, I was on to the edging. Now, edging involves two things I don’t like: climbing ladders or crawling along on the floor on my hands and knees. I spent as much time cleaning my splashes off the floor as I did painting. The paint kept getting on the under side of the plastic drop cloth and finally, in frustration, I hung the plastic sheeting out the front door to dry the paint on it. It was windy and within seconds I was chasing that plastic sheeting down the street. I never did catch it; I presume it arrived somewhere in Minnesota after the wind died down and was presumably still leaving wet paint prints everywhere!
By the time I got to the paint rolling, I had been working at this project for a good day and a half. I was a little tired, and because of that, I was more clumsy than usual. I painted a wall, then tripped over the bucket and put my hand right into the paint. I swiped paint off nearly every wall onto my hair, my arms, my knee, and on one memorable occasion in the hallway, I backed into a wall and decorated the seat of my jeans!
The painting is done now and I have everything back in place and pictures back on the wall. It doesn’t look a great deal different than it did before, but I do know that I am going to reposition the floor lamps. There’s a spot over in one corner where, if the light shines on it right, you can see a spot where the new paint didn’t cover the old. And it’s kind of in the shape of an s….
A Paint Panic