Y'know, maybe it was a good thing that when we went looking for a modest home two years ago, one where the mortgage payment was so low that a military retirement could cover it if neither of us had other income, that we chose a neighborhood just on the edge of respectability. We didn't choose a bad neighborhood; we just picked one where the blush was off the bloom. We feel safe walking the sidewalks here pretty much any time of day or night, although twice now we have been roused from a sound sleep to the sound of gunfire within a remarkably small number of blocks. (The second was Saturday morning. I really ought to check the newspaper's website to see whether it was actually something to be concerned about.) The upside of a 50+ year old neighborhood is that there is no trace of an HOA still in existence. We can get away with things that a covenant controlled homeowner never could.
Case in point: the Doomsmobile has been looking rough for a while. A "while" is defined as "at least as long as we have owned it, since the year 2005." The paint on the hood was the first to go. Eventually paint was flecked off of more than 50% of the body, plus there were giant scrapes down the side from some incident that I don't need described to me, and several inches of rust climbing up the fenders above the rear wheels. We've all been speaking in vague terms about wanting to repaint it someday... someday. This weekend, it suddenly became someday. The Mr has spent hours and hours with a paint stripping wheel on his corded power drill, prepping the surfaces. It was necessary to Bondo a little bit, but pointless to put too much energy into it. And then, in keeping with the true purpose of this truck, it is getting a rattle-can paint job. In the driveway, in case that wasn't clear. No HOA means no one to shut this project down for being an offense against the beautification police (which is sort of ironic, considering this should count as beautification).
I have been stressed out by this truck for years. It has only been in the last couple years that I've chilled out enough to ride in it. Today, I came to the realization that part of my stress was actually from its appearance. Somehow, with the smoother black paint, it has started to feel more capable, more badass to me. Maybe that makes me shallow, but I'm trying to be honest with myself here. It's not completely done yet, but it really looks better. I'm sort of excited about it.
While the garage door was open, Elsa wandered around, mostly sitting on her bed, waiting for someone to come along and pet her. (It happened often enough to make it worth it.) Midway through the afternoon, Murray decided he wanted to hang out in the garage too, to see what all the excitement was about. He made it clear to me that he wanted out of his wheelchair so he could lie down and maybe scratch his back a little. We thought he was napping, until we looked out, and found that he had moved all the way to the edge of the sidewalk, where he sat calmly, watching the cars go by. If the activity in the driveway had not been so attention-absorbing, he might have been allowed to stay there for a while, to switch up his view. But he can't escape the street fast enough for safety, so he had to be lured back to safety. Luckily, he can't resist a good chewie. Bribery works.
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