How is it possible to feel this calm and peaceful at the end of a chaos-inducing day? The activity from today was the sort of thing that normally makes me feel stressful, but here I am, feeling totally capable of rolling with anything. Mr S-P started pulling down the yucky acoustic tiles from the downstairs bedroom, both to give us access to wires and cabling needed to hook up the television (finally), and to raise the ceiling an inch or two when we put up drywall in place of the tiles and stringers. The basement is full of dust, the man is coughing, and there are stacks of boards with nails sticking out all along one wall. We spent at least an hour and a half in Lowe's tonight, long enough for the piped in music to loop itself, trying to pick out components for running the television cabling through the wall, new white grounded outlets to replace teal-painted ancient plugs, and the best system of can lights to put in the basement so we can lose this ugly fluorescent shop light. By the time we got to the recessed lighting aisle, we were both so exhausted, neither of us were still able to do math. We just stared at the shelves while the clerk in that department repeated himself calmly three or four times. We still managed to come home with one fewer light than we had planned to install. Ah, well, it's not like we will never go back there.
I am fairly certain my supremely peaceful mood is weather related. It was truly glorious today. It was chilly enough overnight, that by late morning the house still had not heated up uncomfortably, as it had been doing every day we've been here thus far. It was sunny all day, but in that happy late September way, not in the oppressive July way. Autumn is just a month away now, and I couldn't be more pleased.
I've been trying to move forward with my projects, so we can keep arranging and bringing in our smaller items (like books or 3D art) and fill in all the holes between large furniture pieces. Tonight I finally finished painting the dressing room, so we can move up the daybed I made last year and the vintage desk we bought this afternoon at the HfH Restore Warehouse, to be my new sewing table. As I painted the very last corner, it occurred to me, I have been wrong all this time. This is not the first time I have painted a room purple. I painted a room this exact shade once before, many, many years ago. Somewhere in between 8th and 9th grade, all of us Presbyterian kids transitioned from one Sunday School group to another, and set up a new room in the basement of the church to be a teenage hangout space for our youth group. Naturally when given the opportunity, a group of predominately 14 year old girls of that era would choose to paint the walls purple, and we did. (This was the 80s, understand, and I'm pretty sure the paint was donated.) We had a whole bunch of other paint, so we put a giant rainbow mural on one wall, with stripes about 6 or 8 inches wide, not in a classic arch, but I think it was straight across from the left until about 2/3 of the way over, when it made an 60 degree turn and aimed at the floor. I hadn't thought about that room, those walls, or that rainbow in decades. My 8th grade girl space is nearly ready. All I need now is a stuffed unicorn and a poster of David Bowie in a silvery mullet on the walls, and my regression will be complete.
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