A Little Color

January 4th, 2004 came and went for me with little fan fare, so little in fact you probably are asking yourself, "what are you talking about?" That date marked the 1st anniversary of moving into my house. Yes, more than a year has passed since I moved out of my apartment and into this house; obstensively to live the American Dream. I don't know about the American Dream, it doesn't really have the cast of characters or the big budget, but it was a bit of a dream come true. Problem is the dream has really been very much in technicolor, that whole budget thing.

You see, when I moved into the house I had every intention of decorating and adding a little color. The house, as built, was a little on the bland side. That was a choice I made to better aid me in selling the house quickly should the worst occur or should I have to move. I wasn't confident in my ability to go with too much color and not make it a house that many women would end up saying, "I can't do anything with this house," and move on to the next one. Maybe a little extreme on my part, but who knows. After I moved in I planned on doing curtains, paintings, throw rugs and paint. Of course, just over a month after moving in I was laid off and began six months of basic unemployment.

Finally, a year after moving in, I have gotten around to adding that bit of color I wanted. I can't do it all at once or do a great deal, but I can at least add some color. I really couldn't wait much longer, the stark white walls are just starting to get to me.

So the dining room got a touch up, the living room and the kitchen. Not a great deal, but a few more pictures, some curtains, table cloths and of course some elbow grease. Picture this, if you will, me with a drill poking holes in my walls to hang curtains.

Stage one is done and It has made a bit of difference. When I look at the dining room now I don't feel quite so glum. Same goes for the kitchen. The living room only got some curtains and a small painting over the mantel. Still needs a bit more, which brings me to stage 2.

That stage involves brushes, ladders and paint. So if the thought of a drill in my hand makes your knees go weak, think of me taking on dining room and the living room with several cans of paint; oh and a few bottles of beer.