crashing dreams . . .

my hero tried his utmost but the crown molding bested him. Without the proper equipment, it was becoming a stress laden nightmare . . . especially the corner over the open stairway, which is darn near inaccessible. We unanimously agreed it wasn’t worth the grief not to mention my vision of him crashing down the stairwell, through the banister and onto the living room floor. The dear man, as I type, is patching nail holes and repainting scuffs. Gotta love him!

Frank left the remaining molding, which we plan to return, on the garage floor between the two cars. As I came sailing home from running an errand in my little red Miata, top down . . . I try to avoid the wood and manage to wedge my baby onto the frame of the garage door. As in STUCK, GLUED, IMMOVABLE! A call to AAA has the roadside assistance guy shaking his head. I know he wanted to laugh but since he was married, I know he knew better. Ten minutes later, Frank was buffing out the mirror, door and back panel. We will not really have a good idea of the damage until the morning light.

So while Frank has the brown wall paint out, I start painting my canvas. Well heck, if things end up as planned, it will have a conglomeration of goodies: fabric, metal, India ink, and whatever else strikes my fancy. What wasn’t intended was the huge bug who decided at that moment to end his life by crashing head first into the canvas just in time to be wiped out by a big wet brush.

I may not poke my head out of the covers tomorrow.