Painting the Town Red
Glory be! The baby still takes naps! She goes to bed awake with no fuss! I feel like I'm on perpetual vacation, all because the baby has embraced naptime again. I hardly know what to do with myself, so today I painted the wall behind the recliner. I layered on a second coat of tan and tonight, I will paint it red.
My family room has red walls next to the fireplace, then red stripes on the long wall. The more tactful visitors tell me it reminds them of "Farrell's", an ice cream place we used to have in this area a long time ago. The less tactful visitors say with awe, "Did you paint all those stripes?" I don't care. I painted red stripes to give the room a little zip, a little pizzaz, a little whimsy. At least it's not boring. When you can't afford a room makeover and Trading Spaces is not coming to your rescue, you improvise with a can of red paint.
So, tonight I shall paint the wall red. This will be not quite as fun as painting the town red, but not as bad as falling into a giant vat of red paint.
Which reminds me of my dad's song. He used to sing: "I fell into a vat of chocolate. I just fell into a vat of chocolate. What'd you do when you fell into the chocolate? I yelled, FIRE, because no one would save me if I yelled, CHOCOLATE!" At this point, he would shout with laughter. We'd all laugh along, too, because we could not resist him when he laughed.
I know. He was a wacky guy.
I don't watch The Seventies Show. I lived it. This is me in the middle and my dad:
My grandma (still alive at almost 98 years old) sewed the hideous green dresses, complete with scratchy lace at the necks. I hated that dress. (Notice my clenched fists.) A lady named "Freida" (who had hair down to her backside) fixed my mother's hair at the dining room table. Then, my mother would sleep very carefully with a satin wrap around her head so she wouldn't muss the style. My brother is on the right. He's sixteen months older than me, and my ex-sister is on the left. She's sixteen months younger than me. I was so jealous of her young beauty--she had blue eyes and blond hair which was longer than my straggly mop. Being the vindictive type, I talked her into cutting it all off when she was a little older. I told her she'd look really cute with a shag. That was a lie, but at least my hair was longer then!
My family room has red walls next to the fireplace, then red stripes on the long wall. The more tactful visitors tell me it reminds them of "Farrell's", an ice cream place we used to have in this area a long time ago. The less tactful visitors say with awe, "Did you paint all those stripes?" I don't care. I painted red stripes to give the room a little zip, a little pizzaz, a little whimsy. At least it's not boring. When you can't afford a room makeover and Trading Spaces is not coming to your rescue, you improvise with a can of red paint.
So, tonight I shall paint the wall red. This will be not quite as fun as painting the town red, but not as bad as falling into a giant vat of red paint.
Which reminds me of my dad's song. He used to sing: "I fell into a vat of chocolate. I just fell into a vat of chocolate. What'd you do when you fell into the chocolate? I yelled, FIRE, because no one would save me if I yelled, CHOCOLATE!" At this point, he would shout with laughter. We'd all laugh along, too, because we could not resist him when he laughed.
I know. He was a wacky guy.
I don't watch The Seventies Show. I lived it. This is me in the middle and my dad:
My grandma (still alive at almost 98 years old) sewed the hideous green dresses, complete with scratchy lace at the necks. I hated that dress. (Notice my clenched fists.) A lady named "Freida" (who had hair down to her backside) fixed my mother's hair at the dining room table. Then, my mother would sleep very carefully with a satin wrap around her head so she wouldn't muss the style. My brother is on the right. He's sixteen months older than me, and my ex-sister is on the left. She's sixteen months younger than me. I was so jealous of her young beauty--she had blue eyes and blond hair which was longer than my straggly mop. Being the vindictive type, I talked her into cutting it all off when she was a little older. I told her she'd look really cute with a shag. That was a lie, but at least my hair was longer then!
posted by Melodee at Monday, February 09, 2004
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