This weekend my living room/kitchen area was painted. I helped a little but most of the credit goes to My Gal and her mother. The motif is a deep sage green and palish yellow. Natural color bamboo floors will follow soon. Frankly, it sounds horrible but it looks good to our eyes. Previously, the walls were Egyptian Desert Sand, as I called it, or goose turd brown, if you hold to My Gal’s naming conventions.
My first house was much more of a looker. It was of recent vintage and at the end of a cul-de-sac, very nice. While being grateful that I own a home, I have never been particularly proud of this one. It is a 1978 tract home. Aside from nice square footage, about 1,800 feet, it isn’t remarkable.
About a year after moving in, my mentor gave me a collage of my life in our magickal group. I told him then, it turned my house into a home. It was the first thing that was uniquely me that I acquired since my divorce. The new paint, tile and bamboo floors are going to turn this place from a so-so house to something I will really enjoy. I was hoping to have all that done by the time Jason arrived, as it was going to happen this spring anyway, but it is not meant to be. The timing is not a big deal. Things will come together when they come together.
Though, I am amazed at the difference cosmetics can make. I’m not a surface kind of guy. I am always amazed that people fall for what looks right as opposed to what is right. I’ve seen some really poor business decisions made because things had to look right to this person or that person while the underlying reality is ignored.
I want to know who you are, not what other people need to see in you.
Yet, there is a simple pleasure in pointless beauty. I am so going to enjoy this when it is done.
During the painting, I heard her mom talking about how much pain I was in. Frankly, I thought I was faking it pretty well until she said, “If I was in that much pain that often, I don’t think I’d want to live anymore. Life simply wouldn’t be worth living.”
I’m not sure how I feel about that. She wasn’t being mean at all, just making a statement. I’ve never felt my life wasn’t worth living. I am just very uncomfortable from time to time. My Gal and I take pretty good care of each other.
I have felt sorry for myself from time to time. When I’m in a lot of pain and some sixty year old guy is bouncing through Home Depot I think, “
I did notice something odd this weekend. I went to Lowe’s and used one of the electric carts as I can’t stand on that concrete for long when my back is giving me problems. For some reason, I felt less smart. That makes no sense whatsoever. I’m not an insecure man. Did I project what I don’t know I think into the minds of others and have that reflected back? I don’t think so but I have no explanation for it.
2 comments:
I suspect that it isn't surface cosmetics that makes the change in color (of your home) so significant to you. You aren't responding to someone elses impression of the change of color, after all. (not like the business when you cut your hair) By changing the color, you are changing the emotional/psychic batteries of your home. It will feel different. And then its possible that others will respond to your feeling different about your abode. (think about the difference in "feel" when you set up, but hadn't used yet, the Enochian Temple space)
Like my mother says "Consider the source" :) Moms who existance is being an artist who moves ALL day. She is bent up like a pretzl 80% of the time. For her that is her whole existance. She gets who she is from being able to do that. For HER that would be the end of her "life" as she knew it. She also has a different idea of pain. She barely noticed child birth.
For the rest of us, it just sucks :)
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