Purple Rain..

A decidedly 'unglamorous" weekend for me, as evidenced in the picture. After a fun Friday night including dinner at J.Baldwin where I chanced upon some of my 'gym buds" (Mr. Bill and Kathy rock!) and then to Luciano's for nightcaps, it was all work. All day Saturday and all day Sunday was spent painting my foyer. It's now a lovely shade called 'sapphire' and looks good to go, say, if Prince wants to do a sleepover anytime soon. (I wish!)

Now brings to mind a story that makes me smile. I get my love of painting honest. As a child, my Mom painted our house so often that people used to kid my Dad about losing square footage to paint depth. It would start something like this. Mom would glance around and inevitably say, "Gee, bet this living room would good just one shade darker." Dad would then inevitable say, "looks fine to me and didn't you just do it 6 months ago?" End of subject. Us kids would exchange knowing glances. The next day a secret trip would be made to the local hardware by my Mom with her three little accomplices in tow. All necessary supplies would be procured and we would take the 'zip it' oath. See, my Dad wasn't some kind of control freak or tyrant about painting, but my Mom just happened to like to paint and derived the same freakish pleasure from it that I do today. Dad didn't REALLY mind as long as he didn't have to be involved. And we all know that he didn't REALLY need to know everything anyway--what man does?

Then, the next day at 7:40 when my Dad was still backing out of the driveway on his way to work, the fun began. The 'pajama brigade' would be summoned for service. "Hurry kids, help me push this furniture to the middle of the room." We would shove and arrange till everything was in place. Our job done, we were free to breakfast and get on with our day. Meanwhile, Mom furiously rolled on the first coat and then made us our lunch. Dinner would also be started. Shortly afterward the first coat would be dry enough for her to proceed with round two. By late afternoon we were called again to do our duty--this time in reverse. The room would look great but definitely smell of fresh paint.

At 5:15 my poor, unsuspecting Dad would roll in all tired from work. The house would reek of garlic as Mom was sure to have prepared the most garlicky lasagna and bread known to man. "Man, it smells good in here," Dad would remark as Mom handed him a nice, big Manhattan. The three musketeers would again exchange conspiratorial glances. Tucking into dinner, my Dad would ask my Mom what she had did that day. And of course she would say "nuthin' special." We would collapse in fits of giggles. Dad would give us a chance to say clever things like, "we played in the living room" or "just moved some stuff around" etc. Mom would pop an eyebrow at the comedians and say, "just get to your supper, kids."

Afterwards, Dad would retire to the room in question with the Alpena Snoozepaper and a fresh Manhattan. Sniffing the air suspiciously, He would settle in to relax. We would hang around just to see if he would notice anything. Bored quickly of waiting, we would head outside to play. And Mom would have pulled off another painting coup.

XOXO to my family.