In a faraway kingdom, long long long ago… okay, so it was just last May… we were painting our house white for resale, and it felt like we were bleaching the fun and joy right out of our lives. The only way I could cheer the Boss up about the “white white white white white!” was by talking about our future home and promising her she could choose the colours for her new room.
She immediately expressed a love of stripes. Yikes, I thought. A few days later she changed to polka dots. Double yikes, I thought.
Skip forward to last weekend, when I finally summoned up the courage to ask the fatal question: “So what colours do you want your room to be?”
We stood a long while in front of the paint chips at our local hardware store. I mean a loooong while. And we finally emerged with a blue, a yellow, and a green.
It occurred to me that it might be insane to let a six-year-old pick her own room colours, but then again, who am I to dictate colour choices? I am an indecisive idiot when it comes to paint hues. A wall of paint chips makes me break into a cold sweat. Having to choose between “washed-out-nearly-almost-pale-green” and “barely-perceptible-green-tinged-grey” makes me hyperventilate. The last time I painted a new house I had to have someone hold my hand and tell me what to do. (Thanks, Alice!)
In light of my chronic style handicap, why not let the Boss – she of the fabulous fashion and design sense – pick her own colours? Why not let her rule her own roost? Why the heck not?
It feels like a time to be bold, and live in full technicolor instead of soul-less white and obsequious beige.
So I ordered the paint and got to work…
okay, here we go
not bad at all…
It’s taken a couple of days to get used to, but I like it more every time I walk in there.
Another lesson in boldness from the Boss.
This is a much harder decision. I have quite a number of very large and very heavy coffee-table-style art books that I never look at and love dearly. Gleaned from library discard sales, yard sales, and other strange places, I cannot pass up a good art book.
Once upon a time I made cut-out animations using chopped up illustrations of paintings, so my immediate impulse was to hoard materials for more films. Sadly this interest of mine has yet to make the jump from 16mm film to digital techniques, so I’m not sure if I’ll ever get back to it.*
At the moment all these lovely books are chiefly being used to press leaves. What to do? Take them or leave them?
*For the curious, here’s my cut-out film from 1992: All the Great Operas (in 10 minutes)
This has been the prime activity on the “Should-we-move-to-SSI” front for the last, oh, five years or so. However I do have to say that this summer I’ve finally got to the ‘the-time-is-now’ stage and at this point reconsidering the decision is done only to torment myself.
Although… entering into another gorgeous fall season in Toronto isn’t going to help. We escaped to Saltspring during the stupidly hot, humid and smoggy days of summer, but we’re back now for one of the best two times of the year to be in Toronto. (The other being spring.)
Autumn in our neighbourhood means comfortable weather for the walk to school, pulling out sweaters (but not snowsuits), enjoying the late garden colours, old brick houses and yellow and red maple leaves, the fall harvest spilling over at the produce stands, pumpkins on porches, sublime and ridiculous Hallowe’en decorations, and finally the friendly nip in the air and the darkening dusk of trick or treating.
Photographic evidence of all this will be provided as we progress…
The colour of the leaves may make me think of staying, but the ongoing antics of mayor Rob Ford always renew my desire to hop the next train and get the bleep out of Dodge. (For example: Apparently we may be on the road to turning the Simpsons’ Monorail episode into reality…)