Putting the Pain in Painting

Years ago, I used to actually do those weight machines at the gym – the ones where you push and pull and lift to work various arm and shoulder muscles, while always thinking the seat just might collapse out from under you at any moment. Then, as time went by, I just started doing a few push-ups and planks here and there, along with a few 10-pound dumbbells. Not even 15 reps, 3 times, but like, 10 measly lifts with each arm and we’re out.

But the last couple years I’ve done minimal arm work. Like, they swing when I run. They lift my laptop. Maybe a beer. And yet, every now and then, someone comments on my toned arms. Which, I find funny (and let’s be honest, relieving). The reason they are not flapping in the breeze when I wave? One word:

Painting.

Paaaaaaiiiinting. I have to whine when I say it. Thinking about it, I hate it. And yet, it’s  the one home improvement task I can do on my own, start to finish, no Lou help involved. So even though I want to hate it, I have to own it. And therefore, I have to love it. Or at least, like it.

It’s taken a couple years, but I can say I’ve actually gotten better at painting. I know, it’s not like math or brain surgery, but you have to at least give a shit about your technique. And I finally started giving a shit. More care. Fewer drips – on the floor and on the walls themselves. A steadier hand on the trim (and there is a LOT of trim).

Most recently, I’ve been up on the 3rd floor. And I have to say, it’s the best floor, especially now that it’s almost all painted.

What started as a dusty pink hallway and rooms with dirty-white walls and beige-green trim…

…is now bright white (duh) and light and airy and waiting for someone to donate a Scandinavian’s apartment’s worth of furnishings.

And here’s one with the refinished floors! That’s another post.

So if you’ve been wondering (and I’m sure you have been) what’s happening over at the old Deep Eaves, that’s it. I’m on the third floor, priming and painting away. Actually, first, patching away the holes the amazing, first-rate, top-notch ass hats left in our walls after insulating.

Can nobody do anything right these days???

*Some of the third floor – the part that looks really nice – was done by Dad, who volunteered to help paint while out here on vacation. Painting should not be a vacation.

**None of the third floor was done by Reggie.

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