renovation

The Green Piano Post

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Summer schlummer.  Whatever.  It’s over.

The great thing about blogging is you’re always blogging in your head.  The awful thing about blogging is you’re always blogging in your head.

This one’s been swimming up there for a while, but nonetheless, I give you “The Green Piano Post”.

So.  Sometime between 1970 when my parents got married, and 1975 when I was born, my folks spent their hard-earned G.I. money on – No, not a down-payment on a house…No, not stocks in McDonald’s – a piano.  God love ’em.  Such a beautiful hippie love story, and I’m proud of it to this day.  I’m pretty sure they were eating beans and rice or the equivalent, but By God they had a piano, and I know they sat at it night after night and played Kum-Ba-Yah and Puff the Magic Dragon and whatever else the Readers’ Digest Piano Book contained that was in a key that worked for their perfect triad:  guitar capo, piano, and vocal range.

Forty plus years later:  Their 1970’s flower child who grew up playing that piano now spends hours a week with her hot husband/love/bff/duet partner and his guitar/ukulele cranking out Kasey Musgraves and Symarip and Jack Johnson.  The same piano is featured in her newly renovated front room, and it hosts at least 12 different pairs of hands each week.

The variable:  Instagram and an obsession with paint.  So, you need some background here – I’m the girl who saw curtains she liked, couldn’t afford them, bought some similar curtains and painted each and every stripe the desired color…four pairs of 96″ curtains.  She wanted yellow and blue, not khaki and blue.  I’m the girl who bought a figure-flattering dress for her role as Grace Farrell in “Annie – the Musical”, but was told she couldn’t wear a red dress because Annie wore a red dress, so she spray-painted it with car upholstery paint until it was some weird form of black with a red sheen.  Also the girl who follows Annie Sloan Paint on Instagram because her motto is “Paint Everything”.

So when I saw a painted piano on her feed, I thought “huh.  I haven’t painted a piano.  I have a piano.  I have paint.  Why don’t I have a painted piano?”

Now, I’ve painted a lot of things, but nothing has caused me pause and reflection quite like this piano.  Nevertheless, with the kickass new home reno and no hope of a baby grand in sight, I just decided to close my figurative eyes and jump in.  LOTS of encouragement from hot husband, who, based on his experience with me, couldn’t believe that I talked about it and didn’t make it happen the same day.  I told him I needed to process this one.

So, after a couple of weeks of reflection, I stuck the brush into the green paint and touched it to the piano and knew that now I had to do it.  It made me a little sick.  Until two very strong feelings swept over me consecutively, in a very connected way.  In such a way that I’m not sure I’ll do it justice.

First, I was overwhelmed with the realization that those two hippies who could have bought food or a television or something else more conventional – bought a piano.  And then they made a baby, and their combined DNA created a baby who wanted to paint everything and play every song and sing every note and love everything deeply.  And I realized that they can’t get mad that I’m painting their piano – they made ME, and so it’s their own faultslashcredit.

Then, without warning, I was overcome by the feeling of gratitude for having a Nike husband.  To anything I want to do, his response is “Just Do It!” or something like it.  And he MEANS it.  It my past life (ex-life), I wasn’t even allowed to play the piano when ex was home because it “made too much noise”.  I was discouraged from painting all the things I wanted to paint because I would “diminish their value”.  So what am I even here for?  Something in me was programmed to want to make things different from everything else…What was really going to be negatively affected, the painted furniture, or who I thought I was?

So.

I love my green piano.  It is fun.  It says, “come play me…I don’t bite…we’re all just here to have some fun while we can.”  It speaks volumes about how much I love the way my parents raised me.  It sings a melody of the freedom that comes from finding your one-and-only who wants you to just keep being more of you.

And hey (this could have been my life’s motto), if you have to be an upright, be the funkiest one in town.

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ENFP -Why it’s fun/terrible being one

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One thing my boss learned about me in my final weeks at my job is that I’m a tightly-wound ball of loose, fun, colorful, frazzled yarn.  Or maybe I’m a loosely-braided ball of really hard, tough wire.  I don’t know…Who knows?!?!  She looked at me with great sympathy and said, “It must be really stressful being you – you’re a walking contradiction of OCD and ADD.”

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I was known as the free-spirit, the hippy, the rule-breaker, the “what box?” person in our office of 16.  So it seemed strange to her when I melted down in my office and busted out with the admission that my house was in disarray because of the reno, my treadmill was out of commission, and it made me feel like my whole life was falling apart.  Okay now that does sound dramatic.  However, I thrive on structure and schedules and to-do lists, yet I operate in un-structured spontaneous irreverent ways.  I finally realized that the lists and order are coping mechanisms I’ve developed to survive in the real world.

This got me thinking…Is there any part of me that is wholly and completely any one certain way?  (These things are probably not unique to ENFPs, and certainly not unique to me…just a little self-realization at 40, that’s all.)

Political views:  With regards to taxes, government-involvement, economic policy, domestic and global protection…completely Republican.  With regards to personal decisions …completely Democrat.  I realize this pretty much makes me a Libertarian, which pretty much makes me screwed.

Religious views:  My dad, grandfather, and uncle are/were Southern Baptist ministers.  I was raised in the church and am so thankful for it.  I like believing in the things the Bible teaches.  I like the way I feel/am/behave when I leave church.  I think a lot of the world’s problems would be solved if more people knew and followed Jesus.  I don’t believe everyone else has got it all wrong and are doomed to hell.  I don’t believe science had no part in this.  I don’t believe we should look any differently at people who don’t believe like we do.  I don’t believe what Christianity is taught to be, in most cases, was what was intended. And even if I’m still afraid to be so brash as to claim that any parts of the Bible are wrong, humans are.  All the time.  And we’re the ones trying to read/teach/impose it.  Language and metaphors and translations and interpretations are real actual things.  Jenn Hatmaker says it best in her book, For the Love…”If it isn’t also true for a poor, single Christian mom in Haiti, it isn’t true.”  Fact check, mic drop.

Career:  I need someone to tell me exactly what to do, and then I want to do it completely differently and them not get mad.  Good thing I’m going to be a teacher again.

Homosexuality:  If you’re going to use the Bible for reference to claim something as a sin, you have to use the same Bible as your reference that God created everyone in His image.  Never met a gay person who was faking it.  Never met a gay person who hadn’t tried to be straight.  I have lots of friends who are gay.  Some of them are the very best at showing God’s love – why should I care who they show it to?

Gun control:  Guns should be controlled, but if I want one, please sell me one.  I don’t care about privacy when it comes to this topic.  I believe in lots of regulations here.  But I think the sudden surge in taboo-izing guns is part of the problem.  I want to be the one to decide who gets to buy guns and who doesn’t.  I think that might help.

Marriage/Family/Divorce:  Going to have to make this one a separate post.  Stay tuned.

Parenting:  I want to give them tons of structure, bedtimes, schedules, rules to follow, expectations to meet, with tons of independence, freedom, and self-expression.

Media:  I hate the media.  100% completely.  There!!!…I found something without a “but”.

**The Myers-Briggs Personality test categorizes ENFPs (Extraversion, Intuition, Feeling, Perception…also known as Campaigners, Champions, Idealists) as constantly contradicting themselves because they genuinely see multiple sides to most situations.  Sorry not sorry.

In search of summer…

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I’ve had five days off since my last day on the job, yet, in typical fashion, I’ve managed to make sure I don’t feel like it’s summer break.  Not sure what’s in my head (single-mother syndrome?), but I’ve always tried my derndest to make sure no one has an opportunity to see me as “lazy”.  I feel like I’ve always been so excited about summer, but never really really done what you’re supposed to do with it.  Today might be different..

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This looks like what I feel like, minus the hat.  I don’t feel this confident in a white fedora.
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This is an actual photograph of me, for reference.

I’m going to justify some down-time today to write.  Kwame Alexander answered a fourth grader’s question, “What is the hardest part about writing a book?” with the response, “BIC.”  Butt In Chair.

Well my butt is in the chair, it’s 10a.m., I have a glass of Skinny-Girl wine in front of me and no bra on, so, by golly, it must be summer so I’m writing.

I’ve had a lot of posts swirling around in my head, and though I haven’t made time to write any of them down yet, I’m going to make a list of the posts I want to write over the next three or four days.

  1.  My soon-to-be-published book, Where Poppy Lives – past lessons, present timeline, and future plans
  2.  My conflicting views on just about everything & why they make me happy-slash-sad
  3.  Inspired divorce (this one might merge with #2)
  4.  Home reno update
  5. The boys of summer

I’m going to try something new for me…I’m going to leave this page right now, and I’m going to set up the drafts of each of these pages.  Then I can add to them as I think of things – this technique more closely resembles my brain anyway, so it might be a better mode of operation for me.  I will set them up, type a little, go get on the treadmill (better not take a second sip of this wine), and come back to each of them as required.

We leave for the lake (hallelujah) this Saturday, so my goal is to complete(ish) each of these by then because I want to be free of all brain activity by the time we get there.  THAT will truly feel like summer.  (Right?…I think…not sure I know what it’s supposed to feel like.)

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Magazine Perfect (ABC Challenge)

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I just Googled this term, and it’s not even a thing.  It was at 510 Brodie when I was growing up.  This term, apparently made up by my mother, embodies so many wonderful things about my upbringing and heritage, and so many things I can’t seem to give up.

Are all obsessions bad?  I feel like this one is just one of my quirks (I think I’m justifying a lot of these post topics that way lately…)  But it is an obsession nonetheless – one that causes undue stress almost every day.  I’m not expecting – or even wanting – to turn this one completely off…just moderate my expectations.

If I was going to cast someone to play my mother in a movie about her life, I would have a hard time deciding between the proper Hyacinth (from the BBC) and the oh-so-southern Paula Dean (from the South).  She’s the juxtaposition of keeping up appearances and lovin’ Jesus while cookin’ with bacon grease.  Her mother (more like a mixture of characters from Dallas and The Beverly Hillbillies) wasn’t too much different in her appearances/housekeeping/presentation standards.  On more than one occasion, I called to ask if I could drop by and see her while I was in her area, and she declined because her house wasn’t presentable.

Much like my grandmother, I don’t want people to see my home in any state other than “Magazine Perfect” – the term my mother used to distinguish whether she wanted me to merely clean my room – dust, vacuum, empty trash – or arrange it for the magazine photographers who were inevitably going to drop by unannounced to take pictures of our interior for Southern Living magazine – bed made, throw pillows and blankets strategically staged, frames placed on shelves by height and in odd numbered groupings, and stack of classic novels innocently gracing my desk…and of course I want it to appear effortless. (She never told me these were the things I had to do – I just created that as a definition.)  As a kid, I preferred “magazine perfect” to cleaning.  It involved throwing un-pretty things in my closet and desk drawers (’cause what kind of wackadoo photographer would take pictures of desk drawers???) and making things look pretty.  Nowadays, I enjoy cleaning too, but I still – honest to God – have the thought in my head that a magazine photographer might show up on my doorstep, and By God I’d better be ready.

Like I said, this obsession isn’t ALL bad.  I love living in a tidy house.  I love the compliments from people who drop by.  I love things looking nice.  But most people really don’t care.  I don’t get that, but they don’t.  This probably goes back full circle to my Confidence post.  I don’t feel like I judge other people if their houses are messy (I kinda do if they’re dirty), but I do find myself grateful that I live like I do, and I do expect to be judged.

Here’s what I need to focus on:  Who do I feel like I need to make happy?  The answer should be me and my family.  It does take a regular cleaning and a regular picking-up to make me happy.  It takes very little to make my family happy – I want them to care, but they just don’t.  And I should see this as an opportunity for some freedom from stress…I’m going to try.

*voice in my head* I’m going to be SO mad if a magazine photographer really does show up on a day I’m practicing not caring.  SO mad.

(in my head, that’s me below)

this one

Intoxication (ABC Challenge)

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This next self(ish)-improvement challenge is way less selfish than the rest.  And it’s not one I planned on assigning myself when this A-Z challenge month started:  I’m going to stop drinking.

I know…it sorta feels like I just started!  I didn’t drink in high school – Not (only) because it’s illegal, but because I hadn’t met a drink I liked yet.  And in high school and early college, you kinda just have to accept what someone else is willing to illicitly provide you.  I did, however, learn to hold a drink in my hand.  I would accept a beer or a Bartles & Jaymes so that I didn’t have to go through the complicated turning-down-a-drink exchange, and then I would just hold it.  I might take a teeny tiny sip and try not to wince if I thought someone was watching, but that was it.

Then I discovered the good drinks.  But you had to get out of your house and go somewhere where they make them.  And then you have to pay for them.  So that was rare.

Then I got a divorce and had lots of time and nobody keeping track of my finances (including me.  another story.)  I went to Greek Bros. an average of two weekdays for Happy Hour and usually at least once over the weekend with friends or my band.

Then I moved here and stopped all that nonsense.  I married a man who makes the best drinks and is happy to make them.  And he gladly does a couple of times a week.

Then I learned how to make them myself.  Not a good thing.

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Last night, at a 40th birthday GNO, I had too many.  Yada yada yada, I woke up this morning knowing what I needed to do…Just stop.

I’m not saying I’m never drinking again, and I’m not setting an end date.  But I do know that it’s easier to be the one who says Thanks But I Don’t Drink than to only have one.

It’s a perfect storm right now, really…trying to clear my mind, get into shape, practice all this self-discipline I’ve never had before, save money, and I’m not stressing about my work like I was since I know I’m half-way out tha do’.

So here’s to tea and all the money and calories I’m about to save.  You margarita drinkin’ hooligans can have ’em all to yourselves.  Cheers!

 

Grout (ABC Challenge)

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Compelling topic, right?  I’ve been tossing around all kinds of “G” words, should I tie into what’s going on in my life?  Should it be metaphoric?  I toyed with Girls (as opposed to Boys), Girlfriends, Group (I heart my writing group girls), Gravy (who doesn’t love gravy?!), but I’ve settled on Grout.

We’ve decided to go all-in on our house.  My hott husband got this house for such a great deal…stole it really…that even if we did all the things we would want to do in our wildest dreams, we’d still owe considerably less than what the house is worth.  We plan on staying in this very house for another 10ish years, so we want to enjoy it and not wait until it’s time to sell to start updating.

(That’s not my house, btw.)

I’m madly in love with Saltillo tile.  I’m pretty sure it is connected to my childhood memories of nice expensive homes and my current emotional relationship with Mexican food restaurants, but I love the look – especially contrasted with our eclectic style in art and furnishings.

We’ve had two bids, and two different professional opinions about the actual tile installation – particularly the grout choice.

I may have mentioned before that I am not a patient woman.  But I, myself, would like to compliment myself on the self-inflicted patience that I now find myself comfortable with.  Rather than be in a great big hurry to ready set start go finish yay like I usually (always) am, I, a mature woman now, have recognized that our lives are too hectic for home reno at this time.  Lacrosse practices, car pools, piano lessons three days a week, writing group, just to name a few, equal too many bodies and feet in and out all week.  Everything can come to a screeching halt in May, and I am perfectly fine with that, thank you very much.

But I find myself paralyzed by grout right now.  I’m perfectly happy – as usual – saying “Whatever is cheapest and looks cool and you can start right now right?”  But this might actually hold up our start date more than anything else.  Epoxy or cement grout?  I’ll spare you the list of pros and cons because this isn’t a home improvement blog.  It’s about my inability to make this decision.  I haven’t seen epoxy grout in person.  I haven’t lived with either one for decades to know which is easier maintenance and better longevity.  And I don’t hold the checkbook.  (I have a checkbook, duh, just not one that has enough money for home renovations in it.  Sometimes it can barely buy a home renovation magazine.  Another topic.)

I’ve made major life changes that apparently took more guts than the people who seem to be impressed by them have, I can change careers, get a divorce, move to a big new city with one friend after 13 years with many, and I’ve purchased 16 cars since I started driving.  But I can’t change cell phones, and apparently I can’t decide on grout.

There are some decisions I don’t really like to make because they’re things that I don’t care about but somebody else might (where to eat).  There are some decisions that I make with no problem because I DO have strong opinions about many things (who to vote for).  But I can’t make this one, and I don’t want it made for me either.  And I don’t really think it’s that fact that bothers me as much as the fact that I’m not used to being the one who has to go and seek out the information I need to make the decision.

Because what if I’m wrong.

That’s what this is about, I suppose.  I am paralyzed by decisions where there actually is a right choice and a wrong choice, and I can’t handle that responsibility.  I just want to call my dad and say “tell me what to do”.  Most difficult decisions that I have been able to make easily, it’s because I’m willing to work to make what might have been a bad choice into a good one.  This is one where I can’t fix it if it’s wrong, and I can’t bitch about it if I just don’t like it.

Such a small thing with such big implications.  I guess I’m off to start doing my research.  I’ll update with my findings, in case anyone cares.  I need to see it, price it, and consumer-report it.  As Nike says and my hott husband lives, Just Do It.

In other news, the Diet and exercise are going great!  It’s only  Thursday, but I can see and feel a difference.  I’m about to practice some real big Confidence…going into a meeting to present to a few people who have petitioned my public beheading.  Haven’t been on Facebook and haven’t missed it one bit.  And Expectations, a work in progress.  (Small episode last night, no need to talk about it now.)

I still feel like a blog is me talking to myself, but I’ve started reading many of yours, and I’m completely driven now by the rewards of being on both sides of a blog.  So thanks 🙂

Accepted (ABC Challenge)

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The challenge said “A to Z”, doesn’t sound so hard to me.

Twenty-six days of blogging – I blog twenty-six times a day in my head.  But maybe – maybe – that’s the challenge…ONLY twenty-six things to blog about.

I read the challenge, contemplated, and accepted.

Cocky.  Sometimes I pretend I’m confident.

Acceptance means commitment.  Acceptance means challenge.  Acceptance means a schedule.  Acceptance means I could fail.

I accepted a new job last week (haven’t told my boss yet).  But I’ve committed.  I’ve been challenged.  I now have a schedule.  And I could fail.

So just as I accepted this A-Z poetry/blog challenge, I accepted a job that will make me have to plan every day again, deal with something new every day again, and put a huge part of myself out there for judgment, scrutiny, and personal and professional evaluation every day again.

But that’s what I’ve missed.  So here I am – Challenge Accepted.