paint your ceiling

the summer my dad took half the house to scout camp and my mum and I were left at home... that's when it all started.

somebody said, 'hm, this kitchen would look so much nicer if the cabinets were white.'

and so we painted them. we took every door off its hinges, unscrewed the metal handles, threw tarps over the rest, and flung white paint all over. we even spray-painted the metalwork blue--every hinge and screw. when dad came back, all bearded and worn out, he was shocked.

I still have the pink shirt with white splatters all over it that I wore that week.

the next summer, I got home from england and we lived in a new house. we had five bathrooms. 'mum,' I said, relishing my transatlantic vocabulary, 'let's decorate them.'

five is a lot, so I settled for one to start with, and, after a small shopping trip and three days on an old four-foot ladder, it was decorated. littlest brother even helped.
last christmas I got to attack bathroom number two: the downstairs girls'. my sister and I tore and tore and tore at the ugly wallpaper, armed with putty knives and a spraybottle. and then, despite our father's insistence that the wall was too ugly for paint, we textured it, slathered in a lovely white, and stenciled blue curly bits above the light switches and mirrors.

this christmas is over and nothing has been painted or redecorated. but today I cleaned out my brother's old room and moved in. its two unwindowed walls are plain, its ceiling begging to be a more interesting color. it'll take some negotiating... but maybe, just maybe, I can convince dad to let me add a little color. a nice blue? pastel-ish green?

if not, perhaps I'll just plaster the space above the dresser with postcards or photographs or ... old belts. maybe I'll make curtains out of all the fabric in that dresser. I've got time.