to paint the hallway
The hubster had bought 5 gallons of a second-hand off-white paint that we figured would do for our house. I love a good white paint, but I'm also ridiculously particular. I did an entire post about how picking a paint is an art and a science. I chose not to tell him about my painting plans in case I got to the weekend and was totally exhausted and didn't have the energy or the gumption. I had both. I was determined.
I bought a lovely 2.5 angle brush for the cutting and I set to work. I got the drop comforter out of the garage and put on my painting pants and got down to it. I put on the radio and turned the volume up to deafening. I get that lovely trait from my father. I can drown out any thought with overly loud music. I enjoy painting because it is a task that you have to be completely present for. The moment your mind drifts you mess up. Cutting the ceiling, the door frames, around the electrical outlets and switches, you can see any moment that my mind wandered away.
It was a lovely evening, spent with thoughts of my dad. My dad was a painter in the off-season of teaching. The CBC was playing Sheryl Crow's first album in its entirety. Sheryl was an artist that my dad and I immediately agreed upon. I couldn't get into his music, but he got into mine and encouraged me to enjoy Ms. Crow because Beck's I'm a Loser Baby didn't jive with his values. Tuesday Night Music club brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it. I pushed the brush along the wall, and tears out of my eyes when Strong Enough (to be my man) blared out my speakers.
I finished the second coat and my eyes bulged out of my head.
The white was too white. It had this blue-green undertone and it was making my 1960's mahogany trim look cheap and tacky instead of purposeful and mid-century modern. It was awful. It was so bad I had to inform the hubster, ruining the surprise. I couldn't live with it for a day longer. It had to go.
A trait I have inherited from my lovely dad is that he knew colour. I know colour. My mom couldn't believe that I could pick out her paint colour from visual memory at the hardware store on the first try. My dad easily could have done the same.
This photo elicits the feeling that I want people to experience when they walk into my home. More importantly, it is the feeling I want when I walk into my home. Calm, expansive, energizing, and peaceful. The kind of home that when you walk into you take a deep cleansing breath and sigh if you need to, knowing you are safe. I'm a bit of a nut about it. But when you are renovating your house with second hand materials you have to have a vision in mind.
|Photo by Crisantemo Saga Haro on Unsplash|
I went to the store and they were out of my paint card. Thankfully I had the name (Foggy Skies by Valspar). In a gallon of paint there were maybe 2 tablespoons of tint. It has a pink and brown undertone. As soon as I dipped my brush in I knew it was exactly what I had envisioned for my hallway. It was previously a butterscotch with a green undertone that made my hall look cavernous and it reflected darkly upon itself. My hallway looks ginormous now. That's what a good colour will do for you... exactly what you need it to do. My hallway was the only thing that kept me from absolutely loving my home because it was so dark. And the only way to bring natural light in would be to put in a skylight and that is not happening with a 5/12 pitch roof. The colour had to make the mahogany sing, so a bright but warm white was required. And it was what I found.
I really miss my dad.
There are two shows that I binged watched season two of recently. The first was The Good Place, it's pretty stupid but there are some genius writing moments. And the second (currently), This Is Us, man that show will hit you right in the feels. I mention them because from The Good Place the characters are teaching a demon how to deal with mortality and being human, and he says something along the lines of "you humans are so sad it's so depressing" and in This Is Us, the dad has died and the mom says that every joyful moment after his passing has this veil of sadness because grief is also in the moment that they aren't there to experience with you and you have a sense of loss.
So here I am, saddened, yet excited, happy for a newly painted hallway to surprise the hubster with (but I put it on instagram sooooo), but really dealing with some real feelings of missing my dad. Man, grief is a weird beast. And one that you can only understand after experiencing it. There is no empathizing in grief unless you've truly experienced it. All of this from painting a silly hallway.
Oh, and Happy Thanksgiving, and thanks for reading.
Here is a link for the Doozers on Fraggle Rock. You need to watch it 😂. It will cheer you up after this post.