After nine years, it is time. Or perhaps, the time has long since past... and I am finally getting around to the task! I actually like to paint... but I need to be struck with motivation. And this week, motivation showed itself on my doorstep. And so, after nine years, my bathroom is no longer white... or even white with gray scuff marks.
I could stand in front of the paint chips for what seems like hours... mesmerized by the colors... dreaming the possibilities. I rarely take the little chips home with me... being more of an impulse kind of girl. I typically take the leap of faith that it will match... or be pleasing to the eye. It's only paint...
Armed with brushes and rollers and even a bit of tape, I set to work. Oh how I love opening that can and stirring 'round that creamy colored goodness... and making that first stroke on the wall. I even love the part when I stand back and wonder if I made a mistake in my choice of hue... Too bright? We'll see. But what I love most of all, is turning back and glancing at a section that has been completed. The part when I love what I see... and think about what will be.
This morning, muscles weary from wielding the roller and climbing up and down the ladder, I am happy. That it is done. That it is beautiful. That I am not afraid of a little color. That my little transformation cost only as much as a gallon of paint... and items I already had in the house. And... that I have a husband who never said out loud, in any part of the process Are you crazy? and that upon seeing the completed room only looked around and nodded, smiled and said It sure is bright.