Children have grown, as they do. I wrote a screenplay. More on that later.
A few weeks ago, some guys came over and painted our living room, dining room and hallway. It took them five hours. I was stunned by their industry. For thirteen years every wall in our house has been realtor white. In other words, we have never painted the interior of our house. It always seemed too complicated. In fact, it is not complicated at all to other people. Like the woman who came over and told me the name of the sort of color I like. And the guys who painted. For them, the walls of houses are made to be painted. For me, apparently, they were made to sigh over, cringe at, and complain about. Maybe there is a metaphor here.
What I do know is that the walls of our living room, dining room and hallway are now actual colors. Pewter, and pewter’s even mellower cousin. It’s calming. Oh, and those curtains that were here for thirteen years? The ones with the birds on them? They’re gone too.