Trim paint and Tears :)

 I did it! I finally did it! It only took me eight years and lots of self-talk and motivation to work up the nerve, but I finally did it!

I painted this old bungalow's nearly 100 year old historic trim.  Eeeeekk!!  I had been wanting to do it for the longest time, and anyone who knows me, knows that I am not afraid to slap paint on ANYTHING! I have painted hand-crafted amish furniture, 120 year old pristine antiques, custom kitchen cupboards, sentimental oak pedestal tables that have been around for generations, but this was personal!!

Some of you know our story from 8 years ago, of us building what we thought was our 'forever dream home', when reality, depression and a mid-life crisis hit and we nearly collapsed under the weight of it all. 
We quickly sold our newly constructed home in the country for much less than face value and downsized to this petite and darling bungalow in the city. 

Fast forward to three weeks ago when I was about to swipe the first stroke of latex primer across the surface of this windowsill...

 and I cried. 

Real tears. 

So hard that I couldn't see straight.  I mean this turned into the 'ugly cry' and I became nearly inconsolable.  

So I did what I usually do when I'm having a melt-down and texted my friend, DC.  She asked me why the tears? 

And all I could come up with is that in some strange, inexplicable way, I felt like I was de-facing the place that accepted me just as I was.  The house almost felt human to me and that if I was good enough for the unconditional reception it offered to me when I walked in the door 8 years ago, why wasn't IT good enough for ME?

I felt so strongly that I owe this place a debt of gratitude that I won't ever be able to repay and that somehow with every brush stroke, I was wiping away the memories. The safety.  The security.  The embrace.

I love this house and all that it has meant to me and my family.  I feel enveloped here...by neighbors, by the town, by the history of it all. 

I'm not a superstitious person, but I didn't want to do jinx any of that. 

I am however a sentimental and spiritual person, so I said a prayer of thanksgiving out loud as I climbed up and down that rickety ladder.  I thanked God for an attitude of gratitude...something that I never felt in Esker Creek when we lived there.  

I thanked Him for the symbolic reminder that with every layer of white paint covering the rusty-red, I too, have been washed and made as white as snow within these walls.

I wiped away the tears with my paint splattered sleeve and never looked back again.

I had work to do.  And with thankfulness in my heart and excitement of all that will still be here in this drafty parlor, I got it done.

I ordered a new sectional sofa for this corner.  I'll post that when it comes in.  I'm selling this farmstyle table that I've had for 10 years if you're interested.  Gotta go before I get sentimental about that too.

:)

"If these walls could speak. They would tell you that I owe you. More than I could ever pay".