NO BACKGROUND NOISE
I am having so much fun, I thought to myself as I discovered yesterday that I have lived my fifty three years of life not ever using a can of spray paint. It is not that I have never bought a can of spray paint. I could open up a store and sell all of the cans of gold and burnished copper, and high gloss white having purchased them on many of my trips to Lowes with the notion that I would miraculously become a Do It Yourselfer. DIY as the acronym is known now in the circles of over achieving mothers who can take a blade of grass and turn it into a tiki bar with just a drill and a glue gun.
I know this because I am the involuntary subscriber to endless publishing houses of magazines such as Ladies Home Journal, Good Housekeeping and Better Homes and Gardens who for some reason think that because I own a beauty business are the types of magazines my clients would be interested in. Popular Science or Forbes Magazine never make it into my mailbox confirming that the media is still promoting gross stereotypes in their choices of free magazines they think women are interested in. Why get us to think about science and investing, this may give us too much power, let’s just keep our attention span which apparently they think is a short one with articles on making our own facials masks from the fresh herbs and vegetables we are growing in our organic hand made raised beds. The magazines I receive though never make it past my threshold because as soon as they arrive, they promptly get put into my beach bag for my mindless reading pleasure at my beloved beach.
I realize that I am getting old as I open the magazines these days and I am finding that the women featured in them are way younger than me, like mommy younger. I wonder where the time went as I see the endless parade of super moms trying to out do the next mommy blogger with cupcake decorating tips using stencils that were handmade on some computer program and refurbishing your child’s bedroom for less than a hundred dollars. I am so happy I am not raising a child and trying to be a wife these days. So much pressure to be even more creative than the old days of whipping up a batch of rice crispy treats thinking you were the mother of the year. Pinterest changed everything as did having a camera in your iphone so that every waking moment of everything we do is recorded and placed in neat little folders for the world of moms and women to see and feel inadequate about.
Anyway, I decided to not go to the beach yesterday. I was there all day on Saturday and really, how tan can I be, especially now that I am noticing what is slowly happening to my neck from all of my prior years baking and sunning. So I started the fun process of preparing my house for the infamous Bristol July 4th parade. Nothing like an outdoor gathering to motivate some creativity and I had some metal vintage chairs I had been wanting to clean up that had been on my “list.” You ladies out there know what I mean when I say the word List with a capital L, surely. The endless list in our heads that always has a beginning but never has an ending as I make my way around my house and my yard and my barn adding and subtracting all of the items that will take me a lifetime to complete if ever.
I went into my very organized barn that has about five shelves filled with all of my previous hair brained DIY ideas. I can’t believe how easily the phrase is spewing from my fingertips as I type today. DIY is just another three letters mushed together to make women feel bad about their abilities as a wife and mother if you ask me, but I’ll put that feminist theory aside for the purpose of this essay today. So I march into my barn or as Pinterest would call it, a she shed, (insert nausea here), and pull out my cans of yesteryear spray paint. I am not a prep girl, I just want to spray and go, a reason I am only too happy to purchase a quart of chalk paint from my neighbor, Nancy at Sea Rose Cottage for thirty five dollars. The prepping takes all of the fun out of it, so I crank out my hose, change the dial to direct hit and hose down my vintage metal, quite rusty, chairs. My idea of prep is to put a sheet under the chairs so the driveway doesn’t get spray painted, I was also conscious of my nails so I put on some gardening gloves and went to town. This was my idea of prep. Haha. There wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to take the wire brush recommended to smooth out the rust spots. I barely wiped the cobwebs off as I started formulating my own version of DIY blogging called FUCK THE PREP. It took me a few sprays to get the knack, but holy immediate gratification.
As Michael C stayed put with the Times on the back deck, I began my new career in all things high gloss white, satin white and in a New York minute, I had three brand new pieces of back deck furniture. I couldn’t believe how satisfying it was. And more importantly, they are not PERFECT and I am ok. The confidence boost their completion gave me moved me to the front porch where I had gathered the eye hooks and plastic coated wire I had also purchased to be able to hang some birdhouses I bought recently. Just knowing that I thought of using an eye hook when I purchased the cute birdhouses at East Bay Food Pantry for three dollars made me smile. Recently meaning last week and here I was already screwing in eye hooks and threading the wire through them. I took it even a step further and got out the ladder and hung them too! No DIY procrastinator lives in this house anymore! And though my awesome partner would have gladly helped me at the drop of a hat, it was more satisfying knowing I didn’t need his help, didn’t want it even. I loved that (and he probably did too).
I am overwhelmed with joy and elation on this Fourth of July. This is the first time since I have been in this second part of my life with no divorce, check, did that, no flood in my business, check, did that, no buying a building and moving my business and trying to get used to owning a Magic Palace not feeling overwhelmed as a single female who is not handy, check, did that. And the best part of it all is, I don’t mean to keep bringing it up, but no breast cancer, no decisions about breast cancer, no surgeries, no recoveries, no weekly trips to Warwick for check ups and liquid fills for the breast expanders, Check did that. There is no background noise except for the sound of the humming of my new central AC that was well earned and well deserved and I don’t care what my electric bill is. National Grid, I do know where my power comes from so you can stop asking me. Check that.