I moved around so often growing up that as an adult I’m still not certain what it means to own a home. We have our share of issues to contend with still (like argh, the plumbing CONTINUES TO LEAK), but I’m slowly beginning to realize that I can do whatever I like to it. How liberating to imagine that I could paint the whole thing bright magenta if I want, and nobody could say no. (Except future purchasers. They might say no.)
A month ago, I decided to give up on waiting for a certain AWOL contractor to resume his job (picture above) and clean the garage. This snowballed from a weekend of garage cleaning (results below) into “wow, this space can be used for household projects” to “hey let’s paint this inherited piece of furniture.”
I’ve learned so much in the process. I’ve never painted furniture before, and my family helped me figure out wood and primer and various coats of paint. Then a woman at the art store gave me a swift and practical lesson on making stencils with acetate, and suddenly we had a cute item of furniture for my daughter’s room.
I see how it is, home ownership. It’s addictive because it lets me nest more easily. If I’m not careful, I suspect I’ll start sticking seasonal wreaths on my front door.
Anyway. Here is a photo essay of my path from dirty garage to clean furniture.