|I'm hiding the tan one from hubs. It's the one he'll love. Sigh.|
I think I mentioned that I’m a multi-creative person. There are many things I enjoy doing using those skills. It works well with writing and I’m steadily plugging away on my story—one chunk of words at a time.
Then there is my living room. God knows it is in dire need of creative attention. It’s pictured in Webster’s as the definition of blah. Go ahead, laugh, but I swear it’s true.
When we bought our house, several years ago, there were so many things that needed attention. It was a sound house but honestly, it was the outside that was the draw—barns, pasture, room for my growing family of Great Danes. It didn’t help that I couldn’t actually move there until my son finished out his school term. Two separate households for almost a year. My husband, bless his heart, tried to put things in order and arrange the furniture set up the kitchen and bedrooms. But his idea of decorating and mine are, well, poles apart. I don’t do, gasp, naked walls. Especially naked white walls. Years in the military just put a major hurt in my soul over the color white—except for ceilings. I love bright white ceilings.
There was just too much to do outside to worry about the inside. I had hay fields to harvest, pens for the Great Danes to build, and I needed to prepare for the horses moving up to their new home. Fences fortify, a barn and outbuildings to clean, a new lagoon to build, replacing pipes some numbnut put in wrong.
When I had the chance to breathe I really got a look at the inside I calculated and decided oh, well, sheetrock will have to wait and we’ll live with white, shudder, paneling. That didn’t keep me from incorporating lots of color—after all, I had lots of experience doing that—pictures, wall décor, cushions, throws, and nick knacks. At least the carpet wasn’t a shade of white.
Hubs cringed when he saw my color selections. He looked lost over terms like focal wall and color accents, and he actually shuddered when he considered the upheaval and chaos involved.
“It’s called Pomegranate? Isn’t this color you painted the barn a couple of years ago?”
“Nope, that was barn red exterior rustoleum. This will have a satin finish. Not at all the same shade. See?” I take him outside so he can look down toward the barn and hold up the paint chip. He squints in the direction of the barn and back at the chip. “It’s really, um, bright.”
“Yeah, isn’t it wonderful?” He gives me that look he reserves for people who have seen UFO’s and met the aliens. “Are you sure this green and purplish color goes with pomegranate?” I launch into an explanation of accent colors complementary tetrad colors. His eyes glaze over.
“Honey, trust me. You’ll love it when it’s done. You’ll see how the lime green and lavender pillows will blend and make the room pop.” His jaw drops at the mention of lime green and lavender and mutters under his breath. I think I heard something about sunglasses. I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t mention the turquoise and lime plaid throw I have on order.
So, with him being out of state for several weeks of training, it’s the perfect time to redo the room. It’s not done yet, but I am intimately acquainted with Lowe’s cavernous floor plan (I hadn’t set foot in this store until this week). I’ve trekked miles, the past week, in search for everything I need. I know the clerks by name. I’ve ferreted out all the sale items. I’ve ordered clearance sale (I love clearance sales even though I don’t love shopping) lamps online and saved seventy-five percent off store price (Pats myself on the back).
I’ll let you know how my traditional husband deals with the finished product. Wait until he sees the turquoise watering can vase with sunflowers and purple heather arrangement. He’s just going to love that throw I got for the back of his recliner, too.