Two months ago when we moved into our brand new house, Amie gushed, “Wow! I am happy with everything. I don’t have to change anything for a long time.” In my mind I thought, “Yeah right. We will be painting by next Christmas.” I was wrong. So very wrong. We were painting two months later. Reason? The house was in one basic but very nice looking color. We couldn’t have that, some rooms or walls had to be re-painted.
Now this blog is not about my wife’s penchant for changing things that are perfect, at least to me. I am cool with it and usually just get dragged along anyways, just like I was on Saturday morning.
A few weeks ago, I came home to Amie repainting our en suite bathroom. No, nothing was wrong with the original color. Then Friday evening, she started painting the main wall of the living room. We have very high ceilings so she called around for a painter to finish the top part of the wall.
Now, I am terrified of heights. I don’t take well to not being on solid ground. I don’t do ladders or trees. (I have actually attempted to climb trees a couple of times only to get stuck when I realized how far up I was). Amie doesn’t do ladders. She doesn’t mind heights but she minds ladders. Hence her decision to call in the pros.
I looked at what had to be done and seriously, I couldn’t rationalize paying anyone to paint an area that would take maybe twenty minutes or less. Throughout the night, I played different options and scenarios over and over in my head. and by the morning, I had an idea what I was going to do.
I waited until Amie left to take Mikhail to his dance appointment then I went to get a ladder from the neighbor. On the way out, I found an old extension ladder in the garage that I decided could very well do the trick. I brought it inside and propped it against the wall. It looked just about right. After breathing a prayer, I dipped the brush in the paint and started up the ladder…
High above the floor, I immediately got so into my work, I quickly forgot about my fear of heights. I concentrated on not getting any paint on the adjoining walls or ceiling. Amie would flip if I did and my daredevil task would be for nothing. With a steady hand, I was able to make a close-to-perfect line between wall and ceiling. I was proud and that also helped to ease my fear of being off the ground.
Amie came home when I was on the last corner. She paled when she saw me. “Hurry up and come down! I can’t watch this!” She was still impressed that I had fashioned a clothes hanger to make a hook that held the paint can on the ladder so I didn’t have to climb up and down.
I later told her to give me the money that she saved on hiring a painter but she countered that it was our money and it was not saved but would be used for something else, like basement reno. She has a point there.