The myth of the 'little project'

When I worked as a publications director, people sometimes came to our office requesting "just a quick little project." We always winced. "Little projects" are the worst. Everything that can go wrong, does.

I should have remembered that three weeks ago when I began a quick little home improvement project. I thought it would take a couple of days. I'm still not done. Like those pesky small projects at work, this one has gone wrong at several points, sometimes because of my choices and sometimes not.

It all started when we hired someone to repair the ceiling in my office, which had sustained water damage last winter. All I had to do was pack up my computer plus the papers and projects and clutter and bric-a-brac in my office, move the boxes out, and help Peter move the furniture into the dining room (having first moved the dining room furniture into the living room). When the ceiling guy was finished about four days later, we'd moving everything back in.

It was a tough four days without my computer, but I made do using Peter's laptop in the next room, plus my iPad. (Yes, I'm aware how spoiled that sounds.) Then we moved the desk, file cabinet, and sewing machine back in. 

That's when I noticed that the paint on the window next to my desk was cracked and peeling. It could use a touch-up. Peter said he had the paint I'd used before, and of course it would be easy to do with much of my stuff still out of the room.

Well. Apparently I had taken the leftover paint and tried to mix a new color. It was hideous. But it reminded me that I had wanted to make the woodwork darker. Since we didn't have the matching paint, I might as well choose a new color and do all the trim: a double window frame, two doors and their frames, and the baseboards. Easy-peasy. A couple of days, max.

I got distracted choosing colors using a "paint your room" online feature. Eventually, I chose "persimmon," which looked like a nice terra cotta tone to accent the pale apricot-to-peach color of my walls. I checked the color chip at the store, bought some, and began to paint. Alas, persimmon turned out to be too bright and too pink. It should have been called geranium.

I went back to the color samples, seeking something deeper, more subtle, perfectly balanced between orange and pink. I was debating between "baked clay" and "cavern clay" when I noticed something: both were very close to the trim in our kitchen. We had most of a quart of that - Glidden's "amber coast" - in the basement. Peter had suggested it to me two days earlier. Now I decided it was perfect. This turned out to be a good decision.

Over the next three days I painted two coats over all the trim. (I could have done it faster, but I had gardening to do, blogs to read, baseball games to attend, sore muscles to rest.)

Leaky masking tape = fringe

Then I pulled off the blue masking tape that I had so carefully applied everywhere. Ouch! I discovered not one problem but two.

First, some of my lovely "amber coast" had leaked behind the masking tape, filling little depressions in the plaster wall. It looked like a frilly fringe along the baseboards and door frames. I tried scraping, but it wouldn't budge. Instead, Peter found some leftover paint that matched my walls, and with a tiny paint brush I went around all the edges, painting out the "fringe."

Second, and even more annoying, the special-blue-masking-tape-for-paint pulled off some of the underlying paint it was meant to protect. Paint from the center panel of each door, a light color that I wasn't planning to change, peeled off in strips with the masking tape, and so did some bits from the surrounding woodwork. That is not supposed to happen; this is precisely why we use the blue tape instead of the old beige stuff!

Meanwhile we needed our dining room back, so I've moved my boxes back into the office. And I needed some of what was in them, so they are partially unpacked. I'm trying to sort out and get rid of stuff as I do this, so at any given moment I have one garbage bag and one growing pile of figure-out-what-to-do-with-this-later.

Not perfect, but better!

I still have to finish the doors. But I'm nearly out of paint, so I have to go out and have another can mixed. The way things have gone, I am almost certain the new paint won't quite match. I'm stuck, or as I like to think of it, taking a little break. It's been more than a week now.

The good news is I'm happy with the new color and with how everything looks, or will when the doors are done. What began as a simple functional task - providing some protection for the wood of the window frames - became a small exercise in self-expression. That, of course, is how our clients felt about even the simplest poster or invitation, and it's part of the reason so many projects grew beyond their functional importance.

I'm happy not to be doing publications work any longer. I'm happy to make my own decisions on my own projects. And set my own deadlines. And meet them, or not.

We have Skyped, and it didn't hurt a bit

I don't like talking on the telephone; it takes a lot of energy and doesn't give enough back. That's probably because I like to take in information through my eyes, not my ears.

At ages three and four, our grandkids will talk by phone for a little while, until suddenly they are gone and you find yourself talking with their mom, who is laughing at how abruptly they were distracted by something shiny.

All that was before Skype.

With the kids planning a three-week trip to Montana, we decided to join the Skype generation. Our computers have no working built-in cameras, so we bought a $30 combination camera-microphone at Target, installed the software that runs it, and downloaded the free version of Skype.

Our first couple of conversations were notable for their awkwardness.

Them: "Hello, are you there? We can't see you."

Us: "Hello, we see you but now we can't hear you."

Them: Mouths moving.

Us: "We're going to hang up and call again."

Once we re-established the connection, we could see and hear one another. But our camera periodically wandered so only one of us was visible. Easily fixed; I had set it to "follow my head," which does not work when two heads are involved. Occasionally our sound cut out...I would recommend not buying the cheapest equipment if you are going to use it often. The software controlling the camera and microphone popped up on our screen periodically, and Peter would frantically search for the right command while the rest of us kept a running commentary. "We can't see you any more!" "What did you do?" "Get the picture back!" "Hurry!"

As with any electronic equipment, once you get familiar with it, the technical aspects become almost invisible. The computers at each end of the conversation link up, happy people bound into view, and everyone starts talking.

We had extended, animated conversations about their trip - playing with their cousins, going to Yellowstone, visiting a museum. We saw ViMae's new gold sparkly shoes, admired whatever they were wearing, and laughed at their jokes. Augie has begun making up jokes of his own. Q: Why did the hippopotamus go to the watering hole? A: Because it was in Africa! Hahahahaha.

On their Daddy's birthday, we held up cards we had made. Peter went traditional, using stickers, stampers, markers, and crayons. I used virtual markers and paint, via a drawing program on my iPad.

Eventually the conversation dwindles, and it's time to say goodbye. The children lean in and kiss our images on the computer screen. I kiss the camera lens, and then make a funny face. The last thing we hear is Mommy saying, "Augie, you can turn it off now, Just click h...." Click.

And for the next couple of hours, we walk around with big smiles on our faces. I still don't like telephones, but I love Skype.

Meet Mr. July

What a great photo for July, in the St. Paul Firefighters 2011 calendar. I love the composition, and the combination of strength and tenderness. Plus, you know....

Have a wonderful holiday weekend.

A Fathers Day Remembrance

Dear Dad,

This is my first Fathers Day without you, and I can’t let it pass without sending a few notes your way, especially about your funeral service this past week. You would have enjoyed it.

Everyone who came had a story about what a very nice man you were, and how much they always enjoyed your company. Keith put together a great photo display so people of every generation could find photos of you as they remembered you.

1943, about to leave for WWII

You looked spiffy in your Knights of Columbus cutaway, as did those who served as honor guard at the funeral home (quite a surprise to any who hadn’t seen them before). (Darn, I have just searched for a photo of you in cutaway and chapeau, and I cannot find it.)

When I was the organist for funerals at Blessed Sacrament church all those years ago, we used some pretty trite hymns. I was glad that the church now has a really good soloist, and I liked all of the music (Al told me you chose two pieces and he and Keith augmented the list). This was especially good for me, because for days I’d had one stupid song running through my head: Lime in the Coconut. Oops, here it comes again.

You’d have been proud of all the arrangements Keith and Al made, of their heartfelt remarks that moved people to tears, and of Dave’s superb presentation of the readings.

1945

As we prepared to leave the church, a big wave of sadness came over me. Yes, we were lucky to have you until age 95-and-a-half, and yes, it was a gift to spend time with you in your final months. But now that time is over, and I will miss you. I can tell that I have some tears yet to be shed, and they will probably come unexpectedly.

We had a brilliant blue sky for the graveside service, and I was very moved by the military honor guard, complete with flag, taps, and rifle salute. It reminded everyone of your WW II service, and it united us with the families of those still giving their lives for their country. I thought about the fact that questions of war and peace are irrelevant at such a moment. When the burial service was over, I laid a flower on Mom’s grave.

Most of all, you’d have loved dinner at Sammy’s Pizza after the visitation Monday evening. It was a once-in-a-lifetime gathering of your children with all Kay’s daughters - your stepdaughters - plus various kids and grandkids and friends and cousins. Everyone was on their cheerful best behavior, and several of us wished this could have happened while you were alive.

1951, with Lynne, Bruce, and me

Your friend and neighbor Odin came to the visitation, on his 98^th birthday. A couple of Mom’s good friends came, and several relatives from her side drove up. Two of your former daughters-in-law were there. But the most celebrated guest was Jean, the woman who has cleaned your apartment at Talahi assisted living for the past year. I’d met her at the nursing home, and I’d seen her cry at finding you not doing well. She took vacation days and brought her two daughters to Hibbing for the funeral. Everyone welcomed her, included her in the dinner at Sammy’s, and couldn’t stop talking about what a wonderful thing it was that the staff could be so caring, and that you could make such a wonderful friend so quickly.

2010, clockwise Lynne, Dad, Keith, Al, Dave, me

I find that I am looking for my own words, my own rituals for saying farewell. The words and rituals of the church funeral, although I grew up with them, don’t console and uplift as they once might have. But in the people who came, the stories they told, the way they came together, there is great testimony to your life and your legacy. This brings comfort and inspiration. Rest in peace, Dad, and Happy Fathers Day.