Guys were here painting the front of my house again today. I was also painting the rails and door, basically keeping to the same area as the work being done and miraculously more seemed to happen than the previous day. They also didn't wander off. I believe I've struck upon a Mystery.
Anywho, they did a great job and now our house looks like a 50's TTC streetcar, all red and cream and sunny. Just a few more things...paint living room, repair mudroom, clear and treat yards, install glass, stain new garden gate, remove chain link fence, empty house of rubbish, unpack and sort boxes that were packed two months ago to ensure that they aren't actually full of rubbish themselves...and we're done. Fabulous husband is presently in charge of earning our rye toast and eggs, and I am in charge of the previous run on sentence. Just keep swimming, just keep swimming...
At the end of today I took a break though, of couch time with cat, a movie I didn't think fabulous husband would want to watch and port. The film was "Wit" with Emma Thompson, fabulously complex and tight script, simple setting, diabolically good performances all around. Sad, gut wrenching in parts. Overall pleasant finish, aprox 1.5hrs well spent. The port is a late bottle vintage, 2001-2006, from Portugal. Notes of caramel and nutmeg, dark colour, smooth and even delivery of the various complexities. Equally pleasant finish, aprox 4oz consumed. Lt. Ripley seemed quite happy as well.

Ripley does not understand why we're shut in my office. Having learned from the Purple Paw Print episode of early March, when paint lands on or is deliberately painted onto a surface that can be walked on by a cat and then traced at speeds in excess of 30km through the house by said cat when chased with a face cloth and good intentions, she is now banished behind a closed door for the duration of dry time. In the last shreds of hope that she may use a litter box again I've picked a room with a litter box in it. And because she prefers company, I'm here too. Currently she looks like she has to go, but would prefer not to go in the sand. I’ve put some plastic down to try to compromise.

It's hour two. I'm hoping the stairs will be dry soon. The guy at the paint shop said to wait four hours, but we may venture out before then. The stairs are now their second coat of espresso (of course...) colour, and because I'm impatient I've painted them all at once while fabulous husband is out. I accomplished this by walking up the stairs backward, armed with a miniature roller and 5 oz of port, and leaning forward to roll two steps below where ever I happened to be. It's by the grace of some bemused celestial being or two (I picture those old guys from the Muppets) that I did not pitch forward down the stairs and break my fool neck just now. The stairs were the second thing I painted this evening.

First thing to change colour was the dining room. Our dining room has old fashioned curves up the ceiling, plate rail, and coming down from the plate rail on 2.5 sides some slats and sunken rectangles. The slats are now white, and it made sense at the time to go with one of the darker colours from the smooshing technique on the ceiling to paint the sunken rectangles. Works, right? No. Smooshing using a glaze alters a colour, and the onslaught of what it was full on (to name it is to give it power) was too much. Dubbed in turn "flesh coloured discount model paint", "bargain Brampton love doll" and "fake penis", because although you could argue that the crayon it matched said “flesh” there is no real person on this earth that colour. Unless they’ve been dead for a few weeks and painted for the family. Anyway, the sight of it was a little more than could be reasonably withstood. The next day – as of 41 min ago yesterday in fact - I marched the remainder back to the paint store and begged them to tone it down as much as possible. And while the almost olive we've got up there now isn't what I would have picked from the start it feels like a rescue.

Tomorrow, trim in the living room, touch ups on the stairs and dining room trim - either before or after going to the barista finals at Steamwhistle. Because coffee is what makes us go...port helps us stop. Presently a wee bit of dry time and 1.5 oz from stopping. Am keeping my head and hands inside the mixer until that point (only makes sense if you’re a Dead Milkman fan and then maybe not really…sigh).

So it goes.
The finest of fine minds - spawned in the 20th century, illuminated by a rain of fire in WW2, and always expressed with a concise and contrary wit - has shuffled off his meat and gone on to greater things. Immortality, as a brilliant example of literary genius. And rest, at the end of 84 yrs. Kurt Vonnegut, thank you for burning so bright. Thank you for being so twisted and provocative, for being resistant to easy lies that pass for truth and for blending literature and sifi in ways that hadn't been done before, for re-creating a genre where so many now love to play. But few play the rules of it like you did - like a fiddle on fire.
Thank you, Kurt, for sharing your life. I'm sorry you fell down. I'm glad you stood up while you did.

Now two on the list of Buffy fan video’s made by Anneke, please post/comment/rate with wild abandon. The think I found interesting about this one was when Anneke told us that she had enough – just enough – clips to last for the duration of this song. That she was able to arrange them in a way that conveys a story is a) freaky and b) proof that the gods love Joss always and forever.

Happy Wednesday everybody. I now return to my regularly scheduled dose of paint fumes…

See over under "friends", the fabulous word Veronica? It's also a rather nice flower, but the person under that blog has just done something inspiring and beautiful, with a side of cat torment thrown in for good measure. Go check it out. :-)