Of Parents & Painting

It was a bigger project than I thought it would be. All I wanted to do was a bit of accent painting, in one area of my condo - you know, a light color, framed by a darker color in the same palette (a painter's word), in one location, to make that location "pop." Simple, right?

Not so much. Agonized over color choices. Five trips to Home Depot and/or Ace Hardware. Ran out of that darn blue tape. And paint is surprisingly expensive...especially when the paint guy gives you huge cans of paint, for your "one area" in a condo.

The paint!

When my Mother saw my painted walls (after, ahem, I pointed them out to her), she said, "Where did you learn to do this?!?" Well, Dad, mostly. In fact, although my brother Tom has most of Dad's tools, I took one small, important-to-me piece: his paint-stirring screwdriver. It's big and heavy and paint-splattered. I treasure it.

Dad's Screwdriver

And I wanted it, that tool specifically. Why? Not sure. But it's one tool I watched him use, many times. Squatting over a paint can in the garage, the crappy old radio scratchily playing a ball game - any ball game - stirring a can of paint with that thick screwdriver. When the paint guy in Home Depot tried to up-sell me a paint can opener, I just smiled and said, "No thanks, I'm good."


When Dad and I painted bookshelves for my room, I did the stirring, as sort of a rite of passage. I loved those shelves, for many years, before I left for college.


"YOU!" I answered my Mom. "You taught me how to paint! Remember, when we painted my room, in Huntington Woods? We painted it that very pale purple."


She looked at me, blankly. "Remember?!? We painted the walls together, and we glopped so much paint on the ceiling, you went back and painted a border on the ceiling, all around the room. I used to lie in bed and stare up at that border, growing up."


She was stunned by that memory, that confession. 'Tis true though: I learned painting tips from both my parents. From my Dad: long, smooth strokes, with the occasional bop-bop-bop with the brush, in corners or at edges. And from Mom: if you make a mistake, just paint over it!


Painting is one of those jobs that requires dedication and NOT an attitude of "Oh, well...no one will see that part, anyway." Painting walls really is a job that comes with a healthy dose of: "If it's worth doing, it's worth doing right."


Which I learned the hard way.


After two weekends of trips to purchase/return/re-purchase/another return, lots of clean-up, many hours of DVR'ed shows, drips, smears, sighs and swipes, I'm done. Or at least, done for now. As I gaze at my beautiful accented wall and trim, I see spots where I missed and need to retouch. But the paint is safely stored in the garage for now. Next weekend, I'll pull it out again.

For now...let's not and say we did, OK?
 

Little corner, before.                                                                                    

Little corner, after.