Sandra Heska King

daring to open doors

Seeing Pink (and Tired of it)

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This was originally my in-law’s bedroom.

This morning I lie in bed and look at my bedroom walls–pink walls.

And sigh.

Yes, pink.

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.

Creepy.

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.

Comments

    • Sandra says

      What’s interesting–and your question made me remember this–is that Cassandra asked last week what colors represent our values. And I answered:

      WHITE. Representing my quest for simplicity and single focus. Clean. Uncluttered.

      And I thought I’d say green, but in thinking hard, I think I’d have to choose . . .

      PINK. I see a lot of my photos are pink. I’m not sure why. But pink conjures up thoughts of baby girls. It represents my longing for having eyes “like a child” and living a life of total trust and wonder at small things.”

      And here I am in a pink and white bedroom–still. Hmmm.

    • Sandra says

      Kathy, I think you need to come to Michigan.

      And. Help. Me.

      My office across the hall (my son’s bedroom) is taupe with white woodwork.

      The rest of the house is kind of a buttercream–with country blue woodwork that I’m also tired of. But can’t stand the thought of taking the time to repaint.

      My inlaws remodeled this old farmhouse in the ’60s. They wanted modern–so they took out all the old wide, decorative woodwork and put in just plain cheapo stuff. They covered the wide board wood floors with plywood and carpeted–and we’d have to redo all the door moldings if we changed that. I wish we had the money to totally restore the place.

      I started to tear the wallpaper out of the kitchen and bathroom. Started. Key word. Here I sit at the computer.

      Sigh.

  5. Louise says

    Hey — there is absolutely nothing wrong with sitting at the computer and creating beauty in words.

    Which is what you do.

    Create beauty with your words and in the hearts and minds of your readers.

    what a lovely gift!

  7. L.L. Barkat says

    I love Deidra’s question, which is not really about the room, but about you. It’s a deep question that I’m guessing pink couldn’t even begin to answer.

    Thanks for sharing this.

  9. Cheryl Smith says

    So many thoughts here Sandra. Procrastination rooted in perfectionism. God’s really been showing me those places in my life lately, so this is confirmation in a way.

    And remodeling. We’ve seen our share of it since we moved here just over four years ago. Maybe I’ll be inspired to do a few posts about that. Maybe. 🙂

  10. The Lurker says

    Sissy — The stand is made from scraps from parkay flooring from a factory in the UP. A nun up there came up with the idea. As often happens, people would come to their church for temporary help — rent, gas money, bills, etc. Rather than just give them a “hand-out”, she and some volunteers took the flooring pieces and assembled kits to make these stands in various sizes. The people would then make the stands to get the money they requested. Those of us who bought the stands were essentially the funders for the people in need. In the end, everybody wins. The dignity of individuals remained intact and the scraps were put to good use.

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