Trim-tastic!

T is for time consuming! But, it really does finish the room off, or in this case, the hallway. Although, three doorways, one door and 40 linear feet of baseboards takes a hell of a long time to prime and paint.

But when it is done, it is so worth it. This is photo of me pulling off the tape in the hallway revealing a crisp line between the newly painted trim against the shiny hardwood floors - priceless. (Well not really. It cost me a whole day. But I listened to some good CBC radio shows at the same time so not all was lost.)

Men's Work

As I was scraping the peeling paint and rust off the wrought iron fence at the front of the house with the blazing sun beating down on me, I couldn't help but think that this fence will likely be gone in a year's time. The dream was to have some landscaping done this year, replacing the wall/fence. But when the quotes came in much higher than anticipated, it got moved to the back burner. When we had the house painted, I foolishly didn't have them paint the fence since a fear of heights was the only thing keeping me from painting the house myself. I tend to underestimate the amount of work that such a job entails. Exterior painting is much more challenging than its interior counterpart. It has to be over 10C with no rain forecast for at least 48 hours, which this summer has been a challenge. The paint purchased in early June has been sitting in the dining room waiting for a good stretch of weather when I had time to do it. Since the downpour on Friday, we've had blue skies and sunshine all weekend, so this was my chance.

We have been in our house for three years now, but rarely have we spoken to the neighbours other than those on either side of us. I recognize many of them, and I'm sure that they know us too. But what do we really have to talk about? They are mostly retired Italian & Portuguese couples who hold court on their front porches, keeping the pavement freshly watered every day, and chatting in languages that we don't speak. We are not married and we don't have any children, so it is hard for them to relate to us. They call us the Canadians. We're the newcomers who are changing their neigbourhood. I discovered that the best way to get to know everybody is to do some yard work. When you use a bucket of water and sponge instead of a garden hose to wash the fence, people take notice. My water efficient technique really turned some heads. And why was I doing this work, and not the man of the house? Painting is men's work.

I was careful to catch all the paint drips on the curly patterned wrought iron fence as the men of the neighbourhood shuffled by, admiring my handiwork. They all took the opportunity to comment and encourage, and to get a closer look at this freaky woman who was doing men's work. I'm a novelty. Dozens of cars circled the block for parking spaces close to the street fair on College Street, as I moved on to the brickwork, covering up the last of the pink. Three men close to my own age were making their way to their parked car and couldn't help but comment on what a strange sight it is to see a woman with a paint brush. I just laughed it off. The wives were straggling behind, and the one guy waited for them to catch up so that he could show his wife that women can paint. They too marvelled at my skill and talent with the brush. Clearly the division of labour in their house must fall along the traditional gender lines. If she wanted the bedroom repainted, she'd have to convince her husband to do it. But not here. I'm too independent to let gender hold me back from doing what I want.

The truth is that I've always been attracted to the more male activities: painting, putting out the garbage, plumbing and math. I was one of only a few women in my university engineering classes so I'm accustomed to standing out. But in my family, there were no gender lines. I thought that it was because I have no brothers and because we lived on a farm, so we all had to pitch in to get stuff done, inside and out. My sister and I piled wood, drove the tractor, trapped ground hogs, and spent hours weeding the garden. When I was four years old, my parents dug out the basement by hand. Watching my mom carry buckets of soil and rocks up the stairs must have had an impact on me. Clearly, women can do anything that men can do. She painted and wallpapered, and cut the grass. My Dad took me with him to cattle auctions. My grandmother would not hesitate to grab the riffle to get rid of a pesky ground hog. But there is one place where gender lines remained: cooking and cleaning. That was always women's work in my family. Women could do it all, and then some.

I feel bad for Dan. I know that all the neighbours look at him and wonder why he doesn't do his duty. But they don't see him cooking dinner every night or vacuuming. Truth is that I won't let him paint, work in the garden or do the laundry. I think that I'm better at it, and it drives him crazy. But, he lets me do all the men's work that I want to do. He grew up in a house of boys with two working parents, so he's not afraid of a little women's work. Plus, he's a much better cook than me. He brought me glasses of water every 15 minutes today, to make sure that I wouldn't dehydrate in the sun. And when I was done painting, he served me a bowl of home cooked chili and opened a beer for me. I'm sure that it's hard for the neighbours to understand, but at least the painting got done. And they can all appreciate a clean and tidy front lawn.

Pink Palace, R.I.P.

The other night, I was sitting on my front porch, well hidden by the cedars, when I heard one of the neighbours telling her toddler that he was not allowed to go past "the pink house" on his tricycle. But the next time, he pedaled right on past, so she came out to scold him. He said: "what pink house?" She pointed up at our house and said: "This one. Right here. The pink one, with the white door. See." But the kid was still confused. I guess that salmon does not look pink to a toddler. He was likely looking for bubble gum pink, or possibly the raspberry, that our trim had been painted previously, probably before this kid was born. You see, our house was known as the Pink Palace -- the house that others used as a landmark, as in "we are two houses past the Pink Palace."

I thought about warning this mother that it wouldn't be the "pink house" much longer, but I didn't want to blow my cover behind the cedars. Plus, I wasn't sure when the painter was going to be available anyway. Who knows -- maybe we would be pink all summer.

When the snow melted this spring, I knew that it was finally time to get rid of the last of the pink. We had painted out the hideous trim two years ago, and now it was time to be rid of the less offensive salmon. We called College Pro painters, completely unsure how much it would cost. I would paint it myself but I'm afraid of heights. Anyway, the house is very narrow and it is only the front that needed painting, not the side or trim. The existing paint was in perfect condition -- no peeling or wear. Therefore there was no need for primer, just two coats of paint. So I didn't figure that it would cost too much.

One day our young College Pro Franchisee finally came over and after several long speeches from a perfectly memorized script and many measurements, he presented us with his written quotation, encased in some glossy corporate College Pro marketing crap. Seeing photos of students who look similar to Brad Pitt did not make me want to go with College Pro. Nor did the fact that he quoted us $800 plus GST for this job. We told him that it was higher than we'd expected, and that we'd look for other quotes before deciding.

Finally I remembered a friend of a friend who I had not seen for awhile who is a professional painter. Why not call him? But instead, I emailed him with a photo of the house and the fact that the house is only 13' wide. He replied that he'd "paint the pink" for about half of the other quote, and just fit it in when he had time. Sounded like a good deal.

A few weeks later, I arrived at work a bit early and checked my email. A new message arrived from my painter friend saying that this was the day. And when I rode up on my bike that night, the house was a new colour. Hooray! Bye bye salmon. Hello Nantucket Gray. The neighbours were full of compliments, and now finally I can hold my head high as I walk out the door. Who would have thought that half a day and 1 gallon of paint could make such a difference?

Stepping Out

I have not been very motivated lately to start any major work in our Money Pit, so instead I have been "Stepping Out". I satisfy my reno cravings by helping out friends or by lounging around the MP, enjoying the fruits of our labour. (Not a day goes by that I don't praise the reno gods for the dishwasher in our kitchen. I can't imagine life without it!)

Last weekend was very busy though. I painted at Ally & Ian's new place on Havelock on Saturday and Monday evening. The 3rd floor office is now a tasteful Benjamin-Moore beige with Cloud White trim. Very smart. And on the Sunday, I took a stroll to Upper Montrose with my painting pole to help Denise paint her bathroom a fresh pale blue. (Truth is, I borrowed the pole from Denise, so I was finally returning it!) And as luck would have it, we got a major dump of snow on Friday and my office closed early, so I used the bonus time to help Denise install a new light fixture in her hallway. It looks marvelous (if I do say so myself!)

The Painter Paints

Ally is one of my friends who can paint. Really paint - like pictures that you'd hang on the wall kinda painting. But here she is helping out our friends on Upper Montrose, painting the trim and shelves in the new living room. When she was done, the room looked fab but her hands were caked with latex paint. She kept rubbing her face, but she didn't notice. I guess that's the way that artists react to paint. They embrace it. I was painting ceilings at the time. I reacted to the paint by becoming speckled, like a rare tree toad.

It is hard to believe that I didn't have any experience painting until the past two years, when we moved into our little pink house. Of course, I had painted before, but not that much. The pink demanded that we learn to paint quickly, or hire somebody who could do it. I was prepared to hire somebody but Dan thought that we should try it out ourselves, so we did. So, he has only himself to blame for all this DYI stuff we do on weekends.

Anyway, Ally and The Duke are looking to buy their own Money Pit. Ally confided in me that she hates painting. Hopefully she either finds a place that was recently painted, or else I can give her the name of some great painters. But if she asks nicely, I'll come over and paint her ceilings, if she wants. Let's just hope that there isn't any wallpaper!!!!

Not Tickled Pink Anymore

I can imagine that the garish colours of our house scared away many potential buyers. I was somewhat drawn to this ugly duckling because of that fact, and it resulted in our offer being the first and only - and there was no bidding competition. It may be hard for you readers who live outside of the Greater Toronto Area to comprehend, but houses here can sell in a matter of hours for thousands of dollars over their asking price. A house up the street recently sold for $50,000 over asking with six offers, after a two hour open house. It is mad.

But mad is also living in a pink house. It is certainly easy for your friends and family to find when visiting, but it is also hard to hold your head high as you walk out the front door. When we moved, we thought that the first thing that we'd do was paint the exterior trim, but then the interior took priority. Then it was too cold. So, we had to leave it until spring. Our house stood out even more in the snow.

Rain and overnight temperatures below 10C kept us from doing this job -- but today, we finally did it. A white door and columns are not as unique. Visitors pass right by our house now. But I don't mind. They'll have to find another landmark to guide them here - like our house number?