It was time. I hadn’t painted my bedroom, and neither had anyone else, since we moved in 18 and a half years ago. Besides, with Ken out of town for his annual siblings vacation an extra trip to Home Depot while I incidentally had a credit card in my hand and a certain blue and green in my mind, and my happy success in painting Forest’s room a few days ago, everything morphed into one imperative: Paint, Caryn, paint!
So I bought my colors, found some brushes in the basement that didn’t have hardened bristles akin to a a dead mammoth, and got ready.
Once I caffeinated myself to the optimal point, there was the work of moving things. Luckily, painting a bedroom means you have a big bed to hold lots of little things. It also means you have a great surface to attract big furry animals who love to jump on and roll in lots of little stuff, which necessitates the herding of the animals (not so easy with Shay, who can open doors and probably will be unlatching windows any day now).
Beyond the moving of mammals and stuff, there is the masking of everything in sight. I’ll spare you the pictures, but let’s just say three full rolls of masking tape had a
showtime moment. I also got myself thoroughly tangled in plastic sheeting that had to cover everything because when I paint, I paint sloppy.
Knowing myself as a painter, I remembered to put on a cap (instead of having blue and green hair), and I got down to it. I love the rhythm of painting: the texture and sound of the roller, and the intermittent brush to do edges. Then there’s the smoothing together colors rolled and brushed into one surface. Two and a half hours after brushing and rolling a hint of peach-infused vanilla, early greening of cottonwood leaves green, and almost-dark-out periwinkle blueberry (my names for these colors), it was over.
Except for putting everything back in place, and the cleaning, which was substantial. Despite painting in a plastic covered room, splotches of all three colors were all over the floors, which meant crawling around with a scrubbie, hot water, and a towel. The brushes had to be cleaned too. Mostly, I was the real mess though: my arms and legs looked like a Jackson Pollack painting. Soap, a scrubbie and a long bath took off most of the paint, and I figure the rest will fade or peel off a few weeks or months.
Meanwhile, I’m thrilled to be in a room made semi-glossy and new again while on the radio, someone sings “Home on the Range.” Indeed!