This was originally my in-law’s bedroom.
This morning I lie in bed and look at my bedroom walls–pink walls.
My husband and I have inhabited this pink room for eight years. With the sky blue ceiling. Don’t ask me why it’s blue. I can’t remember.
It’s at least an improvement over the fluorescent orange, green, yellow, and lavender. Those are the colors my daughter wanted in junior high, and it was just a room, and she loved it.
But then she had to spend a week in juvenile detention when she was 17 for breaking probation for–well, long story. That’s for another time.
And she had just found out she was pregnant.
It seemed a good time for a change, and so while she was gone, I repainted her room in anticipation of newness of life in a lot of spheres. Pink. White woodwork with rubber-cemented glitter.
I thought the glitter would be a fun touch.
But later it seemed to make more sense to give her our bedroom on the main floor to be closer to the “nursery,” my small converted craft room. So I painted our bedroom pink.
Now two pink bedrooms.
And we still haven’t gotten around to repainting or repapering. But Dennis and I are both quite tired of pink.
The room is upstairs, an attic-type room with the slanted walls. Two windows on the front of the house, and small windows on the east and west. I hate that our headboard must cover the west window, the window my daughter used to sneak out of and just chill on the roof or sneak down a tree. I heard scuffling out there one night a couple summers ago, like something trying to get in our window.
Accessories are sparse.
A shell of seashells and Claire Burke potpourri sits on my dresser.
My husband’s grandfather’s shaving mug, straight razor, and shaving brush have temporarily found a home on a shelf above one window. Along with a dish that always sat on my mother-in-law’s dresser.
I took a deeper picture of the shaving brush when I was practicing macro focus.
And hats. Dennis’ father’s, grandfather’s, and great-grandfathers.
Two sit on the shelf above the other front window, and the other perches on a handmade plant stand made by I forgot who, but if my sister sees this, she can tell us because she gave it to me.
I can’t decide if I want to paper or paint. And I dread sanding off the glitter. And so I procrastinate. And I think of others who just choose a weekend and redo a room. And then I chastise myself for being a slacker. It’s the way I approach a lot of things. I put them off until the “perfect” time. When other things are done–which never are–or some deadline looms.
And so instead of seizing the moment, I open my computer and just write about it.
Because I couldn’t miss On, In, and Around Mondays at L.L. Barkat’s Seedlings in Stone where others are also writing in place today.