Ho hum-de-dum

I drive up to our house, several times a day, and grimace at the sight of the faded purple front door. Maybe it was smokin' hot red at some point in our home's short history, beaten down by the long afternoons facing west into the hottest sun of the day. But let's face it: it was ugly.

I'm going to pat myself on the back here and announce that my days of procrastination are over. I've reached a point in my life, maybe midlife, hopefully on the longer side of that (!) where I've realized that there is no perfect time, no perfect color, no perfect ANYTHING. I've wanted to paint that cursed front door for as long as we've lived here. That's five years. I've been denying myself that simple gratification for FIVE YEARS. How ridiculous is that?

So I bought a pint of cranberry Rustoleum, busted out the Purdy's, and PAINTED.

(And inhaled copious amounts of toxic fumes. This was enamel we were working with. Even more toxic cleanup with paint thinner. And acetone for the parts I fudged, even with a rather excellent taping-off of the door hardware, if I do say so myself.)

It may have taken five years, but I finally have that red door.

We spend so much of our lives in fear, don't we? Fear that whatever we do won't be good enough. Even when we're talking about paint colors, for crying out loud. Good enough for whom? You? Your neighbors? The occasional stranger who passes by walking their dog? Who cares? It's not like the Paint Police will prevent you from tossing another ten bucks out the window if you change your mind and decide you like green better than red, right? It's not like you can screw up *that much* with paint. Enamel is a bit tricky, you do have to be a bit more careful since you know oil and water (and therefore simple cleanup) don't mix. But if you see something in a magazine that you might like to see in your home, that triggers your taste-o-meter. Follow it.

I even asked Joel to dismantle all four of the pathetically dull builder's grade outdoor light fixtures disgracing the front of the house. Rustoleum makes a wide variety of spray paint these days, so I selected a nice textured dark brown. Scrubbed them all down with steel wool and a little soap and water, painted, and reassembled, complete with lovely amber flame bulbs.

I figure I "saved" Joel at least $400 in new light fixtures.

And those frequent approaches to the front of the house are infinitely more enjoyable. (I'll post pictures tomorrow. And then you can see the large vacant expanse of potential outdoor living space that's been, well, vacantly expansive for two years. With all my preachiness, I myself still have yet to turn on a dime. But I'm working on it. I have ideas. Just need time and inspiration to execute!)

Don't worry. Don't fret. Just do. I've wasted far more time *thinking* about doing than actually *doing*. *DOING* is so much more fun. I highly suggest it.

Which reminds me: I have an entire garage bay full of "to-doing" to do! Next up? That clever hammock I picked up for $2 last summer at a Beaverdale garage sale. Rustoleum to the rescue once again. And I think a can of red will do quite nicely for the frame. The original sling is, well, frankly, disgusting. Covered in mud, ripped in places, forgotten and forlorn. The seller was nearly ashamed to help me to the car with it. But I'm only using it for the pattern.

I look forward to enjoying some lazy afternoons with the kids in that hammock THIS summer.

No more waiting.