Here lived a woman and her hero.

A number of thoughts crossed my mind today as I moved boxes, painted, sat on pillows on the floor and ate sushi with a helper-friend, and got my new fridge and generally observed the place as I painted…

As I painted there were many things I noticed. Whoever put on the trim had no clue how to cut angles, how to tack the pieces properly to the wall or even that there’s a correct and incorrect direction to put them. The painting jobs in the house obviously were not taped for clean lines. As I put shelf paper in the cabinets, it was clear the cabinets were not square. The bathroom window is also incorrectly caulked enough I need to replace the window. The bedroom door wasn’t the right width for the opening so there’s an opening stuffed with a couple of pieces of trim acting as shims. And in the closet there’s a shelf with shelf paper that didn’t stick well, so it is stuck on with duct tape. All of that said, there’s a certain feeling in the place- a friendly feeling. I suspect there lived a woman and her hero. Her hero was her husband and he was definitely not a handy kinda guy. But he loved her and he tried. When the nursery was to be painted, he did it, even though he got paint on the ceiling. When they needed a new door on the bedroom, he may have bartered for one, only to find it wasn’t quite the right size. And on his own, it seemed to make sense to him that trim tapers down from the door opening, rather than up. Good man.
I hope that is the story, anyway. It’s not a perfect place, but it feels like a lot of love has been there.

Behind one baseboard that was not properly secured to the wall I found a beautiful photo of one of their children. I’ll try to get it back to them.