Hue and Cry

First of all a very happy Easter to friends and family (as well as everybody else). I miss having two energetic Easter egg seekers in residence but that hunt would be fraught with danger nowadays with Buddy in residence. At any rate, the Cali-Daughter, favorite son, Wingman, and ABFA are foremost in my thoughts today. I hope they have the day they richly deserve and find tons of chocolate. My wife and I are headed south the Rhode Island to spend the afternoon with my sister and her incomparable in laws.

The Wall I Was Trusted With

My wife’s big project consumed our Saturday, almost entirely. She’s always fretted that the painting job we did when we first bought the house was less than professional; something she’s absolutely correct about. We painted every single wall in the rather large house over the course of a Thanksgiving weekend with the help of friends and family. I’ve always taken some comfort for the memories of that weekend when I spy a less than professional edge to the paint.

My Wife Captured Going After the Edges

Sentiment aside my wife decreed the bad edges had to go since we are preparing the house for sale. I had to resurrect the remaining paint which has waited patiently for nine years in the basement to fulfill their destiny. Surprisingly all but one of the paint cans survived the long wait and was still viable. My wife’s quandary was what task she could assign to me. As the author of more than my fair share of the bad edges she knew my blunt force and ignorance approach to painting had to be properly channeled. She armed with me a roller and assigned the entrance hallway staircase and kitchen walls. They were recently denuded of their family photos and had numerous repaired nail holes. I was sternly advised to avoid coming near to any border areas. This meant she spent the rest of the day meticulously moving around the baseboards with an artist’s tiny paintbrush repairing the sentimentally imperfect edges.

The Grill Was Open for Business for the First Time

Needless to say I finished well before she did and she struggled to keep me adequately employed (much to my consternation). I did contribute by stepping in some of her paint and then tracking it around the hardwood floors. Buddy had a really bad day as his freely ranging fur was constantly trying to become one with the freshly painted walls. There were at least four occasions when he had to be tackled before his wildly careening tail made contact with wet paint.

Buddy Not Happy With all the Work Going On

My wife never seems to run out of energy when she has a project like this in front of her. I am not afflicted in similar fashion so when she ran out of ideas I snuck away to watch the Bruins play down to the level of their competition again. I was summoned between periods to handle the pungent status of Buddy the Wonder Pooch. Buddy was a better sport than usual with his bath but having to get a still dripping dog down two flights of stairs passing by freshly painted walls was not an exercise for the faint of heart. As usual my wife was right and when she finished her edging late in the evening I could tell what a difference all of our efforts had made. I miss the odd, sentimental edges though.