TALK ABOUT mixed feelings.
A lady by the name of Brenda Moore showed up at the house this past week, said she was a design consultant for Triplett Paint and Decorating, and the blonde had been trying to get in touch with her.
With the formalities out of the way, she and the blonde sent me out to “my barn.”
It should be mentioned that daughter-in-law Susie also showed up. Susie, like Brenda, is a good-looking brunette, which I appreciate. But I have learned over the years that two brunettes mixed with one blonde usually spell trouble for me.
But the gathering of this “trouble” is really my fault. Seems in a moment of not listening — the blonde says I never listen — to what was being said, I had asked her what she wanted for her birthday.
“Shutters for the living room. I’m tired of those old curtains.”
She says I said “OK,” which doesn’t mean diddly ’cause she understands “yes,” ignores “no.”
Anyway, I didn’t go to the barn. I slid around the corner into the den and stopped, cocked my ears to “listen.” As I listened, “shutters” swiftly went to “new trim” (that’s as in wood trim) for the windows, which entails a carpenter.
It was also decided by a 3-0 vote that shutters instead of curtains and new trim would also necessitate changing the color of the living room walls. That means a painter who, at that very moment, was finishing up a badly needed paint job on the entire exterior of the house.
Trouble with all that color change is the way our homestead is laid out, there is no stopping place. The living room walls flow into the kitchen walls, which flow into the hall leading to the boudoirs (for bedrooms). Three walls became NINE.
Oh, that painter I mentioned.
His name is Gary Carpenter, a really nice guy and a wonderful painter. He finished up Thursday, left “this old house” wrapped in a lovely new dress. It’s the same color as the old dress, but it’s new.
That of course gave me a chance to rant about why we should be living in a fifth floor one-bedroom rental, not the Great American Dream of a three-bedroom brick.
’Course, I’ve ranted about that before, but not today. Anyway, Carpenter The Painter left with a considerable chunk of Son-And-Heir’s inheritance.
With his beloved “Mom” on a roll, Son-And-Heir’s gonna feel like that mouse of country music legend that keeps gnawing at the pantry door. When he gets in there he’s going to be bleeped off (to clean it up a bit), ’cause the cupboard will be bare.
Thing is, not only will the aforementioned Brenda Moore get a nice chunk of his inheritance, so will a yet-to-be named carpenter (not Carpenter The Painter).
And Carpenter the Painter will also be back for another cut.
Oh, those mixed feelings I mentioned.
Well, turns out Brenda Moore is a native of Dana, Ind., which is also the hometown of the late Ernie Pyle, famous World War II newspaper columnist. Pyle was killed by a sniper’s bullet on a tiny South Pacific island in April of 1945, but I have all five of his books (collections of his columns).
On the wall of “my barn” is also a hand-painted picture of Ernie. To meet someone from his hometown, well, I sort of felt like I was in the presence of royalty.
’Course I may not feel like that when the bills all come due this fall ...
In the meantime, today is church time and when you’re praying for the ill and sinful, say a word or two for me.
As for me, I feel a chill coming on so I’ll probably spend the day in bed … crying.
George Smith can be reached at 256-239-5286 or e-mail: email@example.com