Painting
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Subject: Painting
Date: Fri, 15 Oct 1999 16:02:23 CDT
We are painting the house. Steve is up on the deck, a barrel-chested Hemingway lookalike, doing the trim, and I am just around the corner. Chilly at first, soon enough I'm sweating and begin peeling layers.
It's lovely to work in the morning, to take the stepladder and put blocks beneath the legs to bring it to some kind of level so as not to fall off the damn thing, to dip brush into paint and see the surface change color, the little bristle marks showing.
Bristle marks. It's a cheap brush Steve's provided and there will be trouble later on. It will begin to clump as the paint works up toward the heel and then it's gonna be hell to get the brush to behave. But that's ahead of me.
He's talking and I'm making appropriate little "uh huhhhh" sounds but not really here. He's talking about how he wishes his son were interested in herbs and taking over the business Steve has not yet built but is going to, of how Steve would have loved to have such an opportunity when he was young, and so forth. The sun is just above the treeline now and begins to shine in my eyes. Shine, hell, it's glaring. Move the ladder facing away, and it's better.
Minka, one of the part-Siamese cats comes up with a snake in her mouth, and Steve stops work to investigate. He brings the snake to me...some kind of garter snake? An image of spike heels, hose, and garter snakes comes and goes just as quickly in my mind.
Let it go, I tell Steve. It'll eat mice, bugs, and what have ya.
He carries it over to a pile of stones and lets it slither into a crevasse. Safe. Minka follows, meowing piteously, not at all happy with this turn of events.
I'm thinking of the baby mouse Minka brought to us the other night. It was late evening, twilight failing, and I heard squeaking. Minka pounced at the source of the sound and I looked, peered, my eyes seemingly even worse than usual. Then I saw it. Damn baby mouse and there went my heart.
What do you do? The mouse is damaged beyond living and the cats will play with it (torture it) until they bore of the game or the little thing dies. I think of Robert Burns and his "wee mousie, thou maun live..."
Steve, I say, put it out of its misery. Wee cowerin', timorous beastie.
I don't want to do it.
Then I think of God and evolution and this crazy idea comes to mind that God uses evolution simply because (S)he doesn't want the personal responsiblity of killing things off. Let natural selection do it. Yeah, that's the ticket. I smile at the thought. God as ole softie.
I'm thinking of how I love to eat hamburger, steaks, pork chops and all that, but how I hate to kill. There is a hypocrisy somewhere in there that I am not ready to deal with just yet, but I sense it waiting for me somewhere down the road.
Finally Steve picks up the little creature and kills it. And so the evening went, purple moving into black, death amidst life, amidst the building of a deck, and prelude to a morning of painting.
And the brush did begin to clump. I took and rinsed it out, but with a cheap brush like this one there's not a whole lot you can do. In this case, Steve is pennywise and pound foolish, but of course I will not tell him that. Tomorrow, next time, I will bring my Purdy and it will hummmmm as she paints. Tomorrow.
We talk back and forth as he moves one way and I move the other. The conversation begins to drag, the gaps begin to grow, and after a time we are both lost to silence. My mind takes me hither and yon, and I wander through childhood, adolescence, and Honolulu, up to Canada and over to Japan. A lovely series of magic carpet rides and I come up with all the things I "should" have said, all the things I should have done. This is not at all surprising as these are places my mind has taken me so many times before they're old friends. Or old prisons. I'm not quite sure anymore.
Steve is complaining that I'm not putting the paint on heavy enough. It's the damned brush, but I tell him he's right, that I'll pour it on (ole massah) and he goes away. As usual, there will be a need to touch this stuff up. He wants to do it with one coat, sigh. Well, do the best I can. Bricks w/o straw, I think.
He is painting the trim and doing a decent enough job of it, considering he's not a painter. But it wouldn't be good enough for me. I'd either tape it or...something. I like those tight crisp lines which sing of quality, of caring for the work, but...it's not my job. I'll probably be the one to come along and clean it all up. That will be fine, especially if I am alone to work with just mind and memories.
Does the snake know I saved her/his life? Of course not. Does it matter? Of course it does--to me, at least. I have been Cosmic Hero this day to a little snake. And last night I was Shiva, dancing out death and destruction. Thus it goes.
*******
Didn't make it to JavaBreak until one or so. Mindy was outside smoking a cigarette with Nicoletta and Matt. Matt is Nicoletta's b/f. I sat over against the wall, smoking and mostly observing. Middle-aged and not quite in the way. *S* They are both beautiful young women and it pleases me to be silent, not quite in the way, watching, listening. I think of that John Crowe Ransom poem with the line, "Practice your beauty, blue girls, before it fail..." I will look it up and share the entire thing with you.
Oh--just remembered. A package from Msallthat and a card from Loveisarose!!! I was like a little kid, although I managed to hide my excitement. Will not open either until tomorrow.
And, Sierra, dammit I will be 55--NOT 56! Grin. Be there soon enough, hee hee. And, btw, you are one helluva letter writer, girl. So funny! Will write you something semi-worthy of that asap.
There were 12 messages from the Circle today, which is a record. Thank all of you for your wishes and aloha. Means a lot to me.
Nicoletta is to give me a free cup of coffee tomorrow, assuming I don't have to paint all day. Make it a jumbo, girl.
******
A wonderful, wonderful poem from Darcy today, the best I've ever read from her. Hey, Darcy, might I share it with the Circle? Huh? Huh?
It's nearly 4 PM. Get this off just in case my pal from Tulsa checks in before leaving work.
I luvs ya all. Don't forget that!!
Dickens
