Home Improvement's Become a Real TRIP!

Gotta love home improvement!

The desire to paint the living room, dining room, foyer, and upstairs hall came in late 2008, as we were about to celebrate 20 years in our house.  I'll return to this thought in a moment.

Back in the late '80's, the builder's white on the walls was looking bad.  I was so young.....35!  I organized all the necessary equipment and I whipped through those four rooms, including the stairway in a matter of a couple of weeks, even with three small children around.  When the work was done, I was ready for more!  Family room or kitchen, anyone?  Cleanup was a breeze and the pale mauve paint speckles in my hair and on my clothes made me look like a hard workin' guy!

Okay, back to 2008.  Jackie and I went to our local Home Depot and she was able to decide after a while on a color for the living room, with a slightly contrasting, but matching color for the dining room, stairway and hall...orange!    I knew after the first few strokes with the paintbrush that this wasn't the late '80's anymore.  Nonetheless, I worked my way through the dining room in just a couple of days, and by Christmas, the living room was also completed.  I marveled at my endurance, and at the refreshed look of our lower level.  Despite our beautiful downstairs walls, the project took a snooze until.......

CANTALOUPE

It was August of 2010 before I resumed the project.  Commitments, you know!  I began working my way up the steps with that paintbrush and those rollers.  Somehow, I was not very enthusiastic about the continuation of this project.  The mauve speckles of the late '80's were a distant memory and now I was covered with orange speckles.  I looked like the inside of a cantaloupe as I  stood looking in the mirror...then I stood corrected as I looked at the label on top of the paint can.....I looked like the inside of a MANGO!  A couple weeks later, the staircase was painted, along with the trim.  I remember Jackie inspecting the work and saying, "I wonder what white on white would have looked like?"  to which I quickly replied, "That'll be one for the next owners of the house to see."  I was so happy to have that part of the project finished, that I decided to take another year and a half off!

 

MANGO

Now, in early 2012, I am back on task, albeit without the organizational skills once posessed in my younger years.  I'm working on the upstairs hall, and it's a trip.....  

      ......a trip downstairs to the garage to get the vacuum cleaner to clean the walls.

      ......a trip down two flights of stairs to the basement to get the paint, brushes, and rollers.
      ......a trip to back to the garage to get the ladder.
      ......a trip back to the basement to get the drop cloths.
      ......a trip over the drop cloths, and thankfully not down the steps
      ......a trip back to the basement to get the screw driver to open the paint can.
      ......a trip to the bedroom to get my painting clothes on.
      ......a trip down memory lane as my collection of Beatles music plays.
      ......a trip to the kitchen to get paper towels.
      ......a trip to the basement for the extension pole.
      ......a trip to la la land from the paint fumes.
      ......a trip to the sink to wash the brushes, and the roller is trashed 'cause I'm not cleanin' that thing!
      ......a trip (a.k.a. happy dance) in that nearly finished hallway 
      ......a trip to the medicine cabinet for some Advil to relieve all of the above.
      ......a trip to the chair to anticipate the last leg of that project.

It'll be in 2012 if there's nothing to trip me up!

MANGO OR
CANTALOUPE......
YOU DECIDE!!

A Found Treasure - 25 Years Later

My single greatest reward in this life...the one that caused the most stress and the most calm; the most work and the most play; the most humility and the most pride...is the privelege of being a Dad.  No single title or role defined me in my adult life more than that one.  In fact, from May of 1985, right after my oldest son Kevin was born, until March of 2000, when my youngest son Brian was in Kindergarten, I was a full time Dad. There were many emotions associated with this role. There was guilt for not 'bringing home the bacon', and depending on Jackie for it while we carried out our 'arrangement.'  I remember my Grandmom telling me as a child with her adorable thick Italian accent, "You better go to college or you'll wash toilets."  I think I had the last laugh with that one, though.  I went to college and I still ended up washing toilets!

There was embarrassment in the early years because the husband and wife just didn't have this sort of role reversal.  There were comments made about my being able to sit and watch television all day while the kids played and napped.  Well, my friends, my respect for stay at home Moms and Dads soared through the roof during those years because my kids were early risers, light nappers, and needed an audience as they played.  My admiration for Moms and Dads that go to work and must sacrifice time with their children is a mile high, too.  It wasn't always easy for Jackie to have to leave.  I know there were many times she wished she could be the at home parent. 

Through it all, though, there was ecstacy as we watched our four beautiful children grow.  We had our good and bad moments just like everyone else, but our kids had two good parents as they matured who worked together during good and bad times to keep the family going strong. 

Today, the kids are all over 18 and, for the most part, are on their own.  The clean up has begun.  Recently, I came across this poem while going through papers in the basement.  I like this poem.  Reading it again brought some old feelings to the surface, and I like the way I felt during those early years.  I am watching many friends and coworkers, and my own son Kevin prepare for parenthood, and sharing this now seems appropriate.  It's hard to remember a time when Kevin was the 'only child' and this just brought back so many memories.  Ironically, it had gotten lost in the shuffle again, with papers being piled in the main level of the house waiting to be sorted.  I rediscovered it yesterday and, ironically, the poem was written 25 years to the day before it was unearthed for a second time.  May my son and my friends who will be parents this year, and my friends who are parents know that feeling of unconditional love I had when I wrote this.  It isn't always easy, but thank God for the moments!  I need to share it...............

Kevin's first Christmas 1985

Kevin with newborn John - December 1986

The Significance of 50...............

The significance of 50............

There's the 50 dollar bill.  It's been a long time since I've seen one.

                                                   
      
There's 50 Cent, a rapper who recites profanity filled poetry to a subwoofer popping hip hop beat .  

There are 50 cent words, words that are large and obscure and are used in place of small and simple words.  They make the talker appear to be either incredibly intelligent or a showoff.  Whichever I am, I love 50 cent words.

There's 50-50, a set of twin tickets with one going to me and one going to the seller. A drawing follows.  The seller and his crew pick numbers that differ from mine significantly.  My prize is the lonely half of the losing ticket that sits in my coat pocket.  It's not seen again until pocket emptying day, when a variety of goodies, including some receipts, a mint or two that has fallen out of its case, and some insignificantly small change, visit the trash can or my piggy bank.  I'm not fond of 50-50 tickets.

There's the age of 50.  I achieved this milestone a few years back.  It answered a boatload of questions for me.  Before that birthday, I'd find myself looking in the mirror and asking, Why is my hair so gray? I wish I knew, or Why does my belly stick out so much? Do I eat too much? or Why are there hairless spots on my head? Is it hereditary?  Then, one day, it was Why is my hair so gray? Because I'm 50! and Why does my belly stick out so much? Because I'm 50! and Why are there hairless spots on my head?  Because I'm 50!  When my glasses are on my face, I look in the mirror and have the just mentioned dialogue with myself and enjoy my middle aged confidence, and relish the sporadic respect I receive.  When I am not wearing my glasses, I can't see myself in the mirror anyway, so it's an out of sight, out of mind sort of moment, and I don't ask myself any questions!

There are 50 states.  I can remember putting a wooden Jigsaw puzzle with 50 pieces each representing a state together as a child.  I remember learning the states in grammar school, along with their capitals, and I remember my children reciting that aptly titled song 50 Nifty United States.  I was always fascinated with the map of the United States.

Today, 50 signifies the first blog of the new year, and my 50th.  I have several started pieces that have amounted to nothing.  I have some that will see the light of day with a little focus and adaptation.  I have some found treasures that have sparked a wistful longing for days gone by, and I hope to fill the next 50 blogs with them.  This week, my youngest child, my son Brian turned 18.  It is the end of an era in the family.  The extended family birthday parties end at age 18, and Brian is the youngest of his generation.  I will no longer have any school age children after he graduates from high school in June.   The photo collage below has been the introductory symbol of my blog since its beginning almost a year ago.  It means the world to me.  With this 50th post, I have lovingly saved the picture here and edited a new collage with a new set of memories, and placed it in the vacated spot.

Perhaps a little writer's block, could be that these are busy times, maybe I'm too addicted to Words With Friends......I've missed my writing, and I can't pinpoint a definite reason for being lax this month...In any case, I'm back with #50 and it feels good.