My Unofficial Decorator

. . . came by today. Fortunately (and, unfortunately, for my blogging endeavors and my sleep life) he had tons of ideas, many of which will require little or no money to be implemented.

Consequently, I'm on the hot seat again. I have a bunch of actions that need to be taken over the next several days. Some of them may even require me to change out of my bathrobe, which I hate.

The husband and I still don't know whether we will be able to hang onto the house, so it isn't clear whether we're fixing it up to enjoy or to sell. But for most purposes it doesn't matter: a lot of the actions are going to be the same.

In the meantime, I guess I'll tidy things up. After I have a nap.

It occurs to me that I come from a family that believes in making omelettes without breaking eggs. We are supposed to accomplish great things, but without using any resources whatsoever. And without letting go of anything, even the ugly valances over the drapes in the living room.

Two generations later, the Great Depression is still inside my family's psychic body, like a cancer. We should all get together for some kind of mass chemotherapy.

"I'm afraid of color for the wall," I tell my paint-specialist friend. "What if I'm wrong?" (Keep in mind that one of my sidelines is designing business cards, ads and brochures for businesses, so I'm fine with colored ink.)

"If you're wrong, you re-paint the wall," he replies.

No, no, no. In my family, if you do something wrong, you don't correct it. You can't correct it. That's $40 worth of paint that's gone forever.

No wonder we never finish anything. No completion means less self-flagellation.

Gotta go now: first the nap. Then I shoot my parents. Later, I tear down the valances.