When Kelly and I moved into this condo almost 4 years ago, I let her have the biggest bedroom and told her she could paint it however she wanted. (She was having a tough time with a scumbag boyfriend and missing the old house in Mt. Pleasant.) She took me at my word and painted the room orange, red violet, and several shades of pink. It was a very happy, Kelly kind of room!
She went off to college in August and I decided to move myself into that room, with the plan of painting it a nice sedate olive green. I quickly got the closets done and our belongings switched around. It took a little while longer to move the furniture - hey, try moving a queen sized mattress set by yourself!
Then I tackled the bathroom. Oy vey - what had that child done in there? I had to replace the faucet (she didn't realize you couldn't pour drano on bathroom fixtures and not rinse it off) and stop the toilet's running. The shower looks better now but still needs some more chemicals. At least there is no longer a giant hairball blocking the drain. Painting it was a pain - did I mention I hate painting bathrooms? All that cut in work and so little maneuvering space. And painting around the toilet? Yuck. My OCD kicks into hyperdrive.
So I took off this week to paint the bedroom. I prepped it yesterday, removing and carefully storing switchplates and spackling holes. I planned to start priming last night but made the mistake of stopping by the bead store on my way back from the audiologist yesterday afternoon.
I believe certain things call to each of us. Perhaps the calling is a holdover from a past life. In my case it's probably simpler - I have the eye of a crow. If something sparkles, I'm drawn to it like a magnet. So beads call to me. They don't sit in the bag for long. Sometimes I have 'em out as soon as I'm back in the car. Do I make anything fabulous with them? Usually not. I can be happy just grouping and regrouping them in my bead box, first according to style, then by color or size. We all have our vices, I guess.
Last night I sat down to my desk to mess around with my beads and turned on the radio to listen to some rock and roll. (The two activities just seem to go together for me.) The R&R pickin's were slim so I turned on YouTube and started surfing around. My oh my, I was soon in paradise! (As my friend Cathy has noted, I'm a closet groupie in a reserved-looking outerskin.) I soon had a list of favorites. Here's one of them.
I was twelve when this was shot of Eric Burdon and the Animals performing "The House of the Rising Sun". Is it a hoot or what? Check out how they slowly walk around the set singing and playing their guitars. And how does he hit those low notes? These kids look to me now as if their voices hadn't yet changed, much less that they might have known anything about sin and misery. According to Wikipedia, they're from Newcastle upon Tyne (hey, we were there this summer!) and Eric apparently was fond of breaking eggs over naked girls. So much for innocence.
Anyway, one thing (video) led to another, and I was up past two watching YouTubes. Today I paid the piper and got one coat of primer on. And now I'm off to put the second coat on.