I started with the selected color and instantly hated it. Not willing to go back to Home Depot for a new gallon of paint and just scrap this one, I grabbed my own artist's paints and started squeezing into the can until I came up with the color I liked. No laughing. It's the color of a granny smith apple. The inherited furniture is white, and I'll be painting some mural work on the walls and putting up a lot of art to break it up, so it only sounds dreadful. It's really quite a cheery and invigorating color! Today I paint the trim on the window and door, then sew the curtains. I should be busy at work in there within a week.
On the more melancholy side of life, I'm distracted by the drama in the family that will probably slow down any time for art. My father just turned 75 years old. He's a very old 75. About seven years ago, he suffered a cardiac arrest and lives with the resulting brain damage that comes from six minutes of carbon dioxide delivered via CPR. He had only been remarried for about two years when this happened (Mom died of ALS a couple years prior), so he had a new bride and her two grandchildren that she had adopted (the product of two drug addicted adults that left these babies to fend for themselves). Life took a miserable turn for them at this point. My dad's wife had to quit her job to take care of him. For a while, he thought he had just retired from the Air Force (he retired in 1974). He can't remember that my mother died and is confused about his current living relationship. He doesn't remember that his parents and siblings have passed away, so we just tell him they are traveling. Dad usually doesn't know the date, what state he lives in, or how old he is. He's becoming increasingly aggressive, returning to the violent and angry man that was my father when I was growing up. It's gotten so bad that he attacked one of their kids while his wife and I were on the phone and I had to call their local police in New Mexico from Los Angeles. He will probably spend another week in the geriatric psychiatric ward of the hospital, and then who knows what's next. I just want them safe.
I wish there had been some place for him to go when I was a kid. It would have been nice to have a break from the reign of terror in my house. My closest friends know (love you, Michelle!) and are wonderful when I need to vent. I think it's why I'm such a dork and love the Harry Potter books. If I'd only had a Hogwarts to escape my own Dursleys...
Then I move on. It's done, I don't have to live in it anymore, and I can be happy, safe and creative without looking over my shoulder. Yeah! No more fussing.
