The Hue of Yesterday
This past week has been productive but in an entirely different way. Before the weather had shifted to cold, I'd promised my son that I would take his room apart to “grow up” his décor. Unfortunately, there were a cluster of obstacles between then and now. For one, he was on a fall sports team and there were many games here and there and everywhere beginning mid summer with his conditioning team. Adding to that, I was on a strict writing schedule and then of course fall cleanup with an overabundance of leaves to be dealt with. So, I procrastinated…and then the holidays arrived. “Tomorrow, tomorrow…there was always tomorrow.”
In the mean time, my son went about his business never complaining, always being a “good sport” about the pastel walls, draperies, and dilapidated area rug…of him being stranded in the world of “little boy.”
To be honest, as I packed away the action figures that he spent years collecting…as I crated away the stories that we read together, recalling the day that he did this, the day that he said that…I felt an overwhelming loss. He would never be that little fellow that he once was. I felt sadness until I realized how the little boy from “way back in the day” would forever be a part of him.
The truth is, regardless of wall color, trademarked toys, glowing stars on the ceiling above, he grew up. In a room that is for an eight year old, in a room designed for a teenager…days flip forward on the calendar. One day last week, six days from now, we collect a pile of days, of years, of decades and who we are is not defined by what our wall color is or how much area a rug covers, it’s all in how we choose to live those days.
What do we bring with us for our journey forward? If we're lucky; happiness, love, connection, a testament to each other, memories, fun…a balance of good to outweigh the rough patches. (and believe me, there are rough patches, there always is)
My son and I took a trip to the hardware store. While in the paint department we studied the swatches and gazed at the numerous possibilities. I asked him what he had in mind for a color scheme. With great consideration, he weighed the many choices.
“I don’t know, what do you think?” he finally answered.
I pulled a cream color that held a remarkable hint of morning sunshine to the base of it. My son smiled at me then nodded. “That IS nice,” he agreed.
“What about the accent wall?” I asked him.
He shrugged his shoulders as we once again considered the splashes before us. “I don’t know, what do you think?”
I pulled out several squares keeping in mind the color scheme for the rest of our home. The idea was for him to decide what would suit him though. I was open for whatever he wanted. He narrowed it down and needed to figure out which he preferred: a muted green or an eggplant sort of color. Either choice would transform his room. Magic.
In the end he went with the eggplant sort of color. Against the “kiss of the morning hue,” it would be an interesting contrast. Toss in the natural light from the windows and wa-la, his room, reinvented!~
So my son and I worked as a team. We carried out every piece of furniture and began the task of updating his room.
I’ve been painting a long time. It was something that began when I was in high school and I had begged for a similar opportunity to update my room. The work at the time was pretty much all on me. I had never painted before so there was much prep work that needed to be accomplished. I scrubbed the walls and ceiling; I masked just about everything and slid around with tarps underfoot. The thing I soon realized was that I had a natural ability that my dad decided was to his benefit. The simple task of painting my bedroom led to the painting of every interior room in my parent’s home to the eventual exterior, twice. I guess it was the many art classes that I took which gave me a steady hand and an abundance of patience.
To me it was never simply about slathering on the paint but instead, channeling calm into the walls. I know it sounds a bit crazy but I believe attitude matters.
Have you ever been around someone who is doing a task but they are angry and pitching a fit all the time while they are working? Even after they are finished, that feeling of impatience, the belligerence from “doing” remains lingering in thick. The negative energy is absorbed into the world around them. Maybe it’s the memory we carry from exposure to the rant surrounding that task. No matter how much we want to push it out of our minds, we will always associate that particular home improvement with cuss words, slamming things and frustration.
So, my son and I worked as a team. All and all everything went well enough but the best part of the whole process was the time he and I shared while painting. We talked, we laughed and we bonded. I showed him all of the tricks that I knew surrounding efficient painting. I taught him how to use a roller with minimal splashes; I demonstrated how to use an edger that spares the need to mask the wooden trim. He was a quick study too…but the thing that amused me the most is that while I needed to take an occasional break so as to recharge, he continued working. He’d find me, point to his imaginary watch and say, “time to get back to work!”
All I can say is that if I had the energy of a fifteen year old, I’d be able to produce six novels per year and run a marathon all at the same time.
While we were waiting on the paint to dry on Sunday, my son and I went on a shopping excursion. We found an area rug with the exact colors to match his room. From there we drove to a furniture store to purchase a new headboard and frame. We had to say goodbye to the bed that resembled a race car. (I’m just kidding, he never had one…but that is how it felt.)
The finished room was well worth the effort. I learned something important too while working with him. We carry memories forward from years ago sure, but there is also a great possibility for more to be made today and in the future. Sometimes we have to say goodbye in order to welcome the chance to say “hello.” …and I learned to never try to use a desk to stand on instead of a sturdy chair or ladder because “ka-boom” at my age is not the same as falling “ka-boom” at age 17.
That pretty much says it all. Have a great week! I’m not sure if I’ll manage to accomplish much towards my next writing project (the Oregon Trail story) over the upcoming cluster of days. My daughter will be home from college for spring break. She has a “to-do” list a mile long…too many things for the short allotment of time…as always.
In the mean time, my son went about his business never complaining, always being a “good sport” about the pastel walls, draperies, and dilapidated area rug…of him being stranded in the world of “little boy.”
To be honest, as I packed away the action figures that he spent years collecting…as I crated away the stories that we read together, recalling the day that he did this, the day that he said that…I felt an overwhelming loss. He would never be that little fellow that he once was. I felt sadness until I realized how the little boy from “way back in the day” would forever be a part of him.
The truth is, regardless of wall color, trademarked toys, glowing stars on the ceiling above, he grew up. In a room that is for an eight year old, in a room designed for a teenager…days flip forward on the calendar. One day last week, six days from now, we collect a pile of days, of years, of decades and who we are is not defined by what our wall color is or how much area a rug covers, it’s all in how we choose to live those days.
What do we bring with us for our journey forward? If we're lucky; happiness, love, connection, a testament to each other, memories, fun…a balance of good to outweigh the rough patches. (and believe me, there are rough patches, there always is)
My son and I took a trip to the hardware store. While in the paint department we studied the swatches and gazed at the numerous possibilities. I asked him what he had in mind for a color scheme. With great consideration, he weighed the many choices.
“I don’t know, what do you think?” he finally answered.
I pulled a cream color that held a remarkable hint of morning sunshine to the base of it. My son smiled at me then nodded. “That IS nice,” he agreed.
“What about the accent wall?” I asked him.
He shrugged his shoulders as we once again considered the splashes before us. “I don’t know, what do you think?”
I pulled out several squares keeping in mind the color scheme for the rest of our home. The idea was for him to decide what would suit him though. I was open for whatever he wanted. He narrowed it down and needed to figure out which he preferred: a muted green or an eggplant sort of color. Either choice would transform his room. Magic.
In the end he went with the eggplant sort of color. Against the “kiss of the morning hue,” it would be an interesting contrast. Toss in the natural light from the windows and wa-la, his room, reinvented!~
So my son and I worked as a team. We carried out every piece of furniture and began the task of updating his room.
I’ve been painting a long time. It was something that began when I was in high school and I had begged for a similar opportunity to update my room. The work at the time was pretty much all on me. I had never painted before so there was much prep work that needed to be accomplished. I scrubbed the walls and ceiling; I masked just about everything and slid around with tarps underfoot. The thing I soon realized was that I had a natural ability that my dad decided was to his benefit. The simple task of painting my bedroom led to the painting of every interior room in my parent’s home to the eventual exterior, twice. I guess it was the many art classes that I took which gave me a steady hand and an abundance of patience.
To me it was never simply about slathering on the paint but instead, channeling calm into the walls. I know it sounds a bit crazy but I believe attitude matters.
Have you ever been around someone who is doing a task but they are angry and pitching a fit all the time while they are working? Even after they are finished, that feeling of impatience, the belligerence from “doing” remains lingering in thick. The negative energy is absorbed into the world around them. Maybe it’s the memory we carry from exposure to the rant surrounding that task. No matter how much we want to push it out of our minds, we will always associate that particular home improvement with cuss words, slamming things and frustration.
So, my son and I worked as a team. All and all everything went well enough but the best part of the whole process was the time he and I shared while painting. We talked, we laughed and we bonded. I showed him all of the tricks that I knew surrounding efficient painting. I taught him how to use a roller with minimal splashes; I demonstrated how to use an edger that spares the need to mask the wooden trim. He was a quick study too…but the thing that amused me the most is that while I needed to take an occasional break so as to recharge, he continued working. He’d find me, point to his imaginary watch and say, “time to get back to work!”
All I can say is that if I had the energy of a fifteen year old, I’d be able to produce six novels per year and run a marathon all at the same time.
While we were waiting on the paint to dry on Sunday, my son and I went on a shopping excursion. We found an area rug with the exact colors to match his room. From there we drove to a furniture store to purchase a new headboard and frame. We had to say goodbye to the bed that resembled a race car. (I’m just kidding, he never had one…but that is how it felt.)
The finished room was well worth the effort. I learned something important too while working with him. We carry memories forward from years ago sure, but there is also a great possibility for more to be made today and in the future. Sometimes we have to say goodbye in order to welcome the chance to say “hello.” …and I learned to never try to use a desk to stand on instead of a sturdy chair or ladder because “ka-boom” at my age is not the same as falling “ka-boom” at age 17.
That pretty much says it all. Have a great week! I’m not sure if I’ll manage to accomplish much towards my next writing project (the Oregon Trail story) over the upcoming cluster of days. My daughter will be home from college for spring break. She has a “to-do” list a mile long…too many things for the short allotment of time…as always.
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