How the Hell can it be Good Friday?

How the Hell can it be Good Friday?

That's a loaded question isn't it?  Let me ask it again...
How the Hell can it be Good Friday? 

GASP!  clutching pearls!  

(I promise you my mother is saying my name in great consternation that I started this post swearing.  "Hol-LY!"  She draws out the LY so it sounds like my name is Hol-Leeeeee.)

Seriously, how are we here?  And why do we call it Good Friday?

In a time when nothing, absolutely nothing, seems good right now. 

A Pandemic for heaven's sake.  People around the world are dying by something we haven't, as a collective global people, haven't been able to stop.  It's downright scary.  We're not used to not being the conquerors of all things.

Death is around us.  Grief and loss is a part of the daily conversation.  We are losing jobs.  We are grieving summer vacations that won't be taken.  Savings accounts and retirements seemingly gone overnight.  Relationships changing because of our apart-ness.  Loneliness and alone-ness that brings its own sets of emotions.

And yet life is still going on...bills need paid, kids need taught, meals need prepared and relationships need nurtured all under this weighted blanket of not knowing what next month will look like.

How can any of that be good?

Oh, and by the way, you're also supposed to be celebrating Easter week.

How can it be good?

Good Friday.  

Why is it called Good Friday? I didn't grow up in a church tradition that celebrated Easter Week in the traditional Christian sense.  Oh, we got the new dress and the white patent leather shoes! Don't lament for me.  Though there is one suspicious picture of us on Easter Sunday where my sisters and I are clearly wearing new Easter dresses, but two of us have on big clunky boat shoes. This picture alone leads me to believe my mom most definitely went through a "today I'm choosing my battles" stage.

Check it.  White tights and those SHOES!  Not gonna lie though, my coat is killer!

We dyed the eggs, fought over the Reese's peanut butter eggs and had a good ol' fashioned southern fried Easter dinner.  AND!  And depending on the how the song leader was feeling that day, we might've even sung "Up from the grave he arose!" but only coincidentally, not because we were recognizing THAT particular Sunday as a holiday.

The first time I ever had ashes applied to my forward and someone whisper to me "Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return" I was thirty years old.  I wasn't sure what to expect when I walked in to church that evening, but I certainly didn't expect my eyes to turn on streaming tears that wouldn't end.  My eyes were literally like a leaking faucet that couldn't be fixed.  It wasn't even crying.  I didn't get a runny nose or snotty or feel like I needed to step away from the moment.  It was more like my soul recognized the Holy Spirit in the very act of worship that night and the only way it could be expressed was by streaming tears.  It was so pure and holy and peaceful.  Later that evening I was so sad thinking about how many years I had missed out on that blessed ritual.  I was grieving what I never knew I had been missing. 

All of that is to say that, because I didn't grow up in a church tradition that formally celebrated Easter on the Christian calendar, I've had a bit of learning curve around the rituals and traditions.

Nearly every year I feel like I have to ask again "Wait.  Why is it called Good Friday?"  The most common response is "Good Friday is good because Jesus showed his love for us and died on the cross for our salvation."

While that's true, it feels like such a cop out answer to me.  It's trite.  It feels akin to saying to the new widow who is grief stricken and not sure how she's standing next to a casket "God just needed him more than we did."  To the friend who was just diagnosed with cancer and worried who will teach his son to whistle, "Just remember everything happens for a reason and you'll get through this."  To the parent who just lost a child to an overdose "Now you have an angel watching over you."

I promise you, the recipient of any of those stock responses, while they might have nodded and said thank you, internally they were screaming "SHUT UP!  NO THAT ISN'T TRUE.  I DON'T WANT AN ANGEL!  I WANT MY BABY HERE ON EARTH!"  "ARE YOU CRAZY?  Did you really just say that to me?  I was just given a death sentence and all you can think to say is it's happening to me for a REASON?!"

Turns out the origin of the term "Good Friday" is actually unclear.  Some say Good in this context was interchanged with the word Holy.  Holy Friday.  In Germany they refer to it as Gute Freitag.  God's Friday.  Or Karfreitag.  Sorrowful Friday.  The Danish refer to is Langfredag.  Long Friday.

Long Friday.  That one makes sense to me.  It's Long Friday because we are grieving. 

It's Long Friday because this year, this Easter season has been long and lonely and filled with so many unknowns and losses. 

It's Long Friday because today we face another day staying home.  Sheltering in place.  Another day wondering how we will come out of the other side of this. 

It's Long Friday because we're tired.  And we're sad.  Some of us are scared and many of us ache for the company of others. 

It's Long Friday because yesterday a man crawled upon a cross, spread out his arms, leaned his head against thorns and died.  For me.  For you.  

It's Sorrowful Friday because we're grieving.  

And grief takes time.  Grieving takes time.  It makes the days long and the nights longer.  And the thing about grief is if you don't acknowledge her, she won't go away.  She hangs around like a bad house guest who has outworn her welcome.  Grief takes time.  And Grief takes time.  Grieving is so important in the process of healing.  Grieving is good for us. In its sorrow and dark, long roads, grieving is Good. 

So today is Sorrowful Friday.

Today is Long Friday.  

Today is Holy Friday.  

Today is Good Friday.

Faith, Hope and Love...she taught us all of those things

In January our family lost this beautiful woman.  We still have a gaping hole in our hearts and our family. And we aren't anywhere near close to being through the grief of it.  My Uncle Tim and cousins, Jaime and Jen, especially have a such an empty space in their hearts.

Last week we gathered to celebrate her.  

Here's what I shared on behalf of the Spann family.

While I stand up here by myself, I am actually up here to share what the Spanns collectively have shared, written, reflected upon and reminisced about Mar.

Uncle Tim, if there’s one thing you’ve been insistent about, it’s that today is a happy day.  

With that in mind, I’m channeling my deepest Spann roots to make sure I deliver.

I’m going to start by telling all of you about my last BM…..hey!  It wouldn’t be a Spann story without a good BM!  

Can’t you hear her Marilee now…..Hol-LY!

Ok, so back to my BM.

When I was about six years old, I was helping our grandma wash dishes, while Poppy was sitting at the table reading the newspaper.  I remember Grandma and Poppy talking about various things which didn’t seem too important to my six year old ears.  But then, I heard something that seemed VERY important.  

Grandma said to Poppy, “Well Tim’s on his way over.  He said he has something to tell us.”  I perked up.  

Then the next thing she said I will always remember.  

“Hursh, I sure hope he’s coming to tell us he and Marilee are getting married.”  

Well, I sure hoped so too!  I remember being SO excited.  I immediately began calculating what that meant for my sisters, Jaime and me.  While grandma and poppy were probably relieved to finally have someone to help tame Tim.  

For us, it meant we got Jennifer!  

And that’s the story of my last BM….before Mar.    

From that point forward, Mar has been a Spann.  And if she were here she could tell us a lot of stories of what she learned from being a Spann.  Some of which would definitely not be appropriate in a church setting.  

As I tried to organize my own thoughts and the thoughts other members of our family, I was struggling to put it all together in a way that made sense.  

Everything seemed scattered and fragmented…which, of course, is exactly how I have found grief to show up in our lives.  Thoughts and actions become scattered and fragmented and slippery.

But I’ve come to believe that is really God’s way of protecting us from the enormity of our own reality.  

Brought together the clarity and utter truth we find ourselves in might be more than we can bear.  And so, for a time, this stumbling and numbness is a little bit of God’s own protective hand.  

I kept reading and re-reading what everyone had sent me and trying to re-organize my thoughts.  It seemed the more I tried to force some semblance, the less organized and more messy things became.  

Finally, out an act of desperation and near panic that I wouldn’t have anything put together in time, I decided to take Mar’s approach to eating to figure this thing out.

Mar had it down to a science.  Anticipate the meal.  Assess the plate.  Don’t rush it.  Carefully put together each forkful. Construct the perfect bite.  Slowly load the fork.  And then.   One.  Bite.  At.  A.   time.  Each forkful a new little project.  Savor every bite.  And no matter what, don’t give in to the pace of others.  

Can’t you all picture her eating a meal?  Slowly, carefully.  Enjoying every single bite.  

Now, outside of always wanting to have her Dewey decimal organizational skills, I’ve always known there was a lesson to be learned in how Mar ate.  And it proved true to apply it to what I was going to say today.  

When I finally sat down to put things together and assess my plate just as I began to put together my first thoughts, my first forkful, it came to me.  

It was so obvious.  

There is no other way to remember Mar that makes sense then to think about Faith, Hope, and Love.

Faith

Mar was the model of living by the motto of “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”  

Though I would argue she mastered the art of substituting “Bless her heart” as an adequate substitute.   

Throughout Mar’s entire life she lived her faith….much like she ate her meal.  She didn’t let others influence or rush her and she BELIEVED each bite was going to be delicious.  

Oswald Chamber’s tells us that we are to be the broken bread and poured out wine of Christ for others, until they are strong enough to go to the source directly.  

Julie shared:  I appreciated how she always remembered every significant event in my life.  Not only did she remember, she made the effort to acknowledge it.  Not just our birthdays, but also our anniversary; sometimes it was a card, sometimes a text, sometimes a phone call….sometimes all three.  Mar had a gift of reaching out to others to make them feel special when they needed it most.

For all of us at one time or another, Mar has been the broken bread and poured out wine our hungry, thirsty hearts needed at just the right time.  

And we most certainly witnessed Mar embody her faithfulness the last seven years.  She and Uncle Tim walked a journey none of us can fathom.  Yet it seemed her smile never faded and her concern for others never waned.  

My mom, Claudia, shared, “At times, Mar could have been nominated for sainthood.

John Howell writes, “It is out of our pain that we become healers.  Our brokenness shows us that the cracks in ourselves can become like windows, to let light in and to let light out.”

In Marilee’s pain, she became a healer to all of us through her own journey and faithfulness.  

Hope 

She named her cat Hope.  That pretty much sums up Mar’s approach to life.

Mar was always hopeful for a positive outcome, no matter what the situation.  She always looked for the silver lining.  

We are often reminded to listen for the “still, small voice of God.”  For many of us, especially if you’re a Spann, that is hard to do.  But that didn’t seem to be the case for Mar.  

This is how Bonnie reflected on Mar:  

One of Mar's many sweet qualities was she was a good listener. I would rail on for a while about something, she would patiently listen. She would then, in her soft voice say, "Bonnie, the Bible tells us...and then she would recite a bible verse that covered my rant. It always amazed me and humbled me. I never felt she was judging me, just sharing her love of the Lord and His word. 

So, here’s the thing….you can’t hear the still, small voice of God if you don’t listen.  And Mar taught us all to listen.  

Even when God was silent, Mar listened.  And even when God was silent to all of us who prayed and pleaded and begged and cried for a different outcome, in many, many ways we heard God’s still small voice through Mar.  

Regardless of the circumstance, Mar taught us to hope in things above, through her listening and her approach to living.

Love

Mar exuded love.  In her beautiful, big eyes.  In her radiant smile.  And certainly in those perfectly, big Marilee hugs.  

Robin shared:  Mar loved her family, she loved being with them.” 

She modeled for us how to be intentional in supporting family members and all of our various endeavors for both the Spanns and the Millers.  If there was an award for best cheerleading aunt.  Mar would win.  Even when she couldn’t attend she’d follow up and cheer on from afar.   Dance recitals, hockey games, wrestling matches, art competitions, basketball, football, countless birthday parties, the list goes on and on.  

Mar loved chocolate.  And Mar loved sweets in general.  And personally, I think being remembered as someone who ate dessert first is the way to go!

And certainly, Mar loved Tim.

This is from Jaime:  You and dad loved each other through good times and bad, whether you were living paycheck to paycheck or a little more comfortably, healthy or sick (did you all know that Tim is a diabetic?)…you were an amazing example to Spencer and I and how to make it through the ebbs and flows of life. As long as we stick together, we can make it through anything. 

Thank you for being dad’s huckleberry!

I can still hear her say “Isn’t he cute?”

As we have gotten closer to today to come together and celebrate Mar’s life, I have found myself especially reflective during the Easter season.  Two weeks ago, as my church family gathered to celebrate Maundy Thursday, the traditional gathering the evening before Good Friday to acknowledge the story of Jesus’ last week, this is how our pastor opened the service.

There’s something oddly compelling and true about living thru Jesus’ death, because we, too, know our share of death, don’t we?.....with our own share of disease & failure & death, Jesus’ death acknowledges what we know all-too-well.  It is indeed an awful week.

Strangely, though, improbably perhaps, this is also a good week, indeed, we can even say, a very good week.  Sometimes people ask what could possibly be good about this week, and about Good Friday.

It’s good because it shows that Jesus knew what it was like to suffer and despair and die a very real death.  

It’s good because no matter what we’re going through, God is there.  

It’s good because even this ghastly chapter is finally redeemed by grace.

So let this story wash over you.  Take in the awfulness and the pain.  And know that even in the midst of the worst life can do to us, “there is yet more light and truth to break forth from God’s holy word” (John Robinson).

We are still asking what’s good about Mar being gone from us.  

It’s good because Mar showed us, no matter what we’re going through, God is there.  

It’s good because even Mar’s last chapter was redeemed by grace.  

We will continue to take in the awfulness and pain of Mar not being among us, yet we know there is more light and truth to break forth and for that we are grateful.

Now to really do this Spann representation justice it’s important that we close with a quote from one of our family bibles…Lonesome Dove.  

Mar certainly taught us all so many lessons in her last years as she worked at living a new normal and over and over again beating the odds.

And even in her dying she continued to show us faith, hope, and love.  And now our job is to honor Mar by remembering how she lived.  

As Augustus McCrae said “It ain’t dying we’re talking about, it’s living.”  

And yet these three remain.  Faith, hope and love.  I’d say that was a life well lived.

Test

Test.  Test 1.

Test 1, 2 3.

PPPHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

Is this thing on?

Yep, dusting ye old blog off again.  

Sweet Sarah said it was time I generously grace others with my randomness and not just her all the live the long day.  So, basically that means that MOM, you get to hear me blather again!  yay for you!!!

So I plan on throwing more things up here, more often.  

For those of you who started your own support group from withdrawl, you may rejoice and rescind your membership dues.  Well, wait.  Don't rescind.  Go to Happy Hour and spend them wisely for heaven's sakes.

Now my first act as Mayor of my little blog is to hereby declare....oh shoot.  I didn't think through that before I started that sentence. [ha!  spoken like so many of our politicians these days].  Anywho, I'll get back to you when I declare something.  

In the meantime, be looking for new blog posts.

I'm actually starting my first few posts with "meant to write about that" posts.  You know, the time I took pictures so I could blog about it later and then never blogged about it?  Yeah, that's what those will be.

L'Chaim,

hs

It's all about Relationships

I keep a post it note taped to one of my computer monitors.  It's dated June 14, 2014.  I hastily scratched it down while I was on the phone with him one day.  While we were talking, their house phone started ringing.  He set down his cell phone and went to answer the ringing landline.  I could hear him answer and his one sided conversation.

"Hello Schweingrubers.....Hi Sharon.  Oh, uh-huh.  Mmm,hmmm.  Saturday?  Yep, let me check......Yep, Saturday will be perfect.  Ok.  Thanks for calling."

Then he was back on the line with me.

"Ok, Holly.  That was Dr. Cole.  She wanted us to know she gave my phone number to another couple today she diagnosed with multiple myeloma.  We're going to meet with them Saturday."  

"Oh, that's good", I replied.  Then I asked, "Don, how many people do you think you and Nance have met with over the years?"

He paused.  "Hmmm, that's a good question, Holly."  He paused again.  "I don't know.  Lots", in his western Pennsylvania accent.

"Well," I said, "I just think it's so neat that you are willing to meet with all of these people.  And that Dr. Cole can freely give your name out."

Another pause.  "Well, you know, I have been hope for a lot of people."  And that's when I grabbed whatever was in front of me and wrote it down.  He continued on, "When I was diagnosed, people didn't survive as long as I've survived."

He said it casually.  Very matter of factly.  Very Don-like.  The same way he would say, "The Steelers are having a good year." or "Well, I have nice legs."  Confident, yet telling the truth.

And this was his truth.  Don was hope for a lot of people.  For over thirteen years, his oncologist would tell newly diagnosed mutiple myeloma patients to contact Don to help ease their fears, calm their anxiety and see living proof it's possible to live a long time after diagnosis.  

He was, indeed, hope to those people.  

What hope had he given people?  Imagine being given a fatal diagnosis.  Being told, many many times....'we're in unchartered waters.  we've used all the different types of drugs there are available to fight this cancer.'  That was part of Don's journey.  He had heard those words before, yet he continued on. He lived his life.  And through his living he became Hope to many, many people.

Don's life motto was "It's all about Relationships..."  Celebrations.  Difficulties.  Life's messiness.  Life's beauty and profoundness.  Don's default starting point, no matter how big or small the conversation, was "about the relationship".  And so it didn't matter to Don that he didn't know a thing about these strangers he was going to meet Saturday.  He'd start with the relationship.

We were on the phone when he said it.  But had I been at his house, on the floor propped up next to the fireplace, like many other times, he likely would have posed it as a question.  "When you think about your life at the age of 74, what do want people to have received from you?"

He liked questions.  Kept a bucket of them in the living room.  When he thought of one, he dropped it in.  Questions are what formed the basis of getting to know scads of college women over a 15 year period.  Deep questions.  Silly questions.  Questions meant to open up space between people and allow time and fears to be suspended.

-If you were a bridge what kind of bridge would you be and why?

-If you could change your name what would it be? [In 1993, he answered "Buck".  The name stuck ever since.]

-If you could relive one year of your childhood what would it be and why?

-What's the theme song of your life right now?

I adopted this very same technique when I started in my own career in the same profession.  Questions are the ultimate icebreaker.  They're the perfect way to get a group engaged with each other.  Questions allow others to get to know each other more quickly.  And you know what happens when you ask questions?  You LISTEN for answers. Don was a listener.

And when you listen, really listen, to others it allows for a relationship to develop and grow.

In the short six months since he has passed, I've picked up my phone to call or text him countless times.  Each time, it was to ask him a question.  From very specific advice in my work to more trivial ribbing questions about his beloved Pirates/Steelers?  

Perhaps I'll start my own question bucket, if only because it'll make me a better listener.  

Buck Gruber, you are surely missed by many.  We remember you on your birthday.  And today I will pose a few good questions to others in your honor.

Sitting on Don's Memorial Bench "It's all about relationships" is inscribed in the bench.

Hauling Rock

This has been sitting in my drafts for over a year.  I finally finished it.

Basically, I was born to haul rock.  Bred for it, my daddy always said.

Pretty much I am.  I'm also genetically disposed to collect rock too.  Can't haul it, if you don't collect it.

Anywho, see these pallets of brick?  Yep, we volunteered to move these to Sweet Sarah's parents house.  It was a win-win.  They got free brick, I got them out of the backyard.  

Easy cheesy, right?  A nice Sunday afternoon loading, followed by a nice dinner at her parents' place.

This picture shows us with one pallet loaded.

We're feeling pretty good here.  Pallet loaded.  Keep on movin'.  I was BRED FOR THIS!!!!  Oh, also...if you look closely at my nose you'll see a divot.  That would be a biopsy divot for what later turned out to be a nice healthy scoop of skin cancer.  WEAR YOUR SUNSCREEN PEOPLE!

Did I mention the humidity was 129thousand percent?  And EVERY LAST LITTLE brick was encrusted with mud and worms and centipedes?  This picture was immediately taken after the above picture.  Still one pallet loaded.  And yes, that's a Budweiser St. Paddy's Day hat on my head.  Don't judge.  Free is free!

At this point, we're still smiling.  And hopeful, we will have this brick out of the backyard by the end of the day.

But lo!  An angel of reason appeared [her name is Sweet Sarah] and gently pointed out that the hitch of the Highlander was just a mere two inches off the ground with only ONE pallet loaded.

Time to assess.

Post assessment, I determined we would re-distribute the weight of the first pallet aaaannnnddddd.....KEEP ON LOADING!!!!

But lo! The angel of reason RE-APPEARED!  She gently pointed out that even with the weight re-distributed the trailer was no SUDDENLY close to the ground.

SIGH.  Time to re-assess.

The angel of reason was right [she usually is, but don't tell her].  The SUV nor the trailer could handle any more weight.  

Dang it.  This was supposed to be a ONE DAY PROJECT!!!!  

[If it all turned out happy and easy, what would I write about?  And what would our would entertain our mothers?]

Well, let's just say this didn't end the way we had hoped.  It was a TWO Sunday afternoon project, in which we had to bribe our niece's fiance to help us finish.  It also cost us two trailer rentals, major tire ruts in the green grass and the worst of it being Sweet Sarah 3 chiropractor visits, 3 spine specialist visits, 6 physical therapy sessions and countless hours limping around.  

A win-win for sure. They got a patio.  I got a broken wife.

I, on the hand, was bred for it.  

The end.  

Yep, yep, yep....it's been a while

Thought it was time to get back on the blog-wagon.  For all of my faithful readers....I mean, for my mom.  THE reader.  I mean, Sweet Sarah has to live with my running commentary all the time.  I'm pretty sure the only reason she reads my blog is to make sure I haven't publicly embarrassed her and to point out my egregious exaggeration in story telling or spelling errors.  

So, MOM!  I'M BACK!!!!!

Let's see, let's see.....where to begin???  I'm thinking a stroll through my photo library.

So here we go....no telling where this will take us.  

Oh!  I made these.  Completely ROCKED OUT an Auntie Anne's soft pretzel recipe.  No exaggeration here either.  Sweet Sarah told me mine were BETTER than Auntie Anne's.  That's a WIN PEOPLE!

And oh!  We celebrated this lovely lady's 90th birthday!!!!  Ridiculous isn't it?  NINETY!!!!  Her spunk and humor and fun spirit have always been such an inspiration.

I have a new office mate.  Lebowski has decided it's VERY important to be present on the days I'm working from home.  Sometimes his snoring interrupts my conference calls.  I don't mind sharing the office, but he NEVER takes his turn emptying the trash.

And sometimes I have to share with Teddy.  But only when he schedules video conferences during the workday.  [Seriously, this is how he decided to sit in my lap while I was on a video conference.]  And also, don't judge me for having suggestive alcoholic beverage art in my office....everyone gets inspiration to get through the work day a little differently.

And this???  Well, these two are the CUTEST TWO IN-LAWS you ever did see!!  It was a 3 year old birthday celebration and they were RIGHT THERE ROCKING IT OUT!  Love them!

And Sweet Sarah almost peed her pants she was so excited about being in Chicago the same weekend as the NFL draft.  That was a ton o' fun.  [A little commentary:  while I'm in full support of taking safety measures because of head injury, this seems a little extreme to me, don't you think?]

I suited up for the combine, but somehow my lightning speed and towering height didn't get me much.  I'm back among the common folk, slogging it out during the work day.  

And for a finale, how about the way we roll at a Spann Family gathering.  CLASSY, CLASSY, CLASSY!  

Until next time!  

Master Bath Renovation

On January 1, we marked four full years at The Drayer.  It was well past time to take our 1980's bathroom through a transformation.  I had been plotting this project for a while---looking forward to the end result, but dreading part of it simply because it was going to be a BRILLIANT project or a complete disaster [more on that later].

As luck would have it, Sweet Sarah got very sick the day before we were scheduled to start.  While, I don't think she wanted to be sick, I do think she was secretly relieved she wasn't being dragged through this project with me.

Ok, so let's look at what was in front of me.  In typical Drayer fashion, I was starting with a Kaminski.  This is the verb/adjective/adverb/noun we use when un-doing or re-doing any of the projects of the former owners of The Drayer.  Think lipstick on a pig.  

Here's a quick example.  

 This is what was revealed when I removed the commode tank.  Really?  REALLY?!  They took off 238 square feet of wallpaper and left this attractive swath for me.  Yep, a Kaminski move.

Oh!  Here's another one.  Found behind the towel rack.  

Right.  So, that's just a bit of what I was going to attack.

So here's some before pics.

The marble shower is great.  We also love the cabinets and counters.  

Remember this shot.  It's critical.  Oh!  And that's said towel bar hiding the beauteous wall paper.

This is a shot from the commode corner.  I believe the wallpaper was lurking behind me just waiting to be discovered.

Beautiful cabinets, right?

At first I didn't mind the wall color.  It felt clean and bright.  But Sweet Sarah was having none of it.  Even when we looked at the house she said it felt cold.

The longer we lived here, the more this nasty grouted tile grossed me out.  I won't even bless you with a close-up.  Nasty. Nasty.  And no amount of scrubbing or bleaching or vinegaring or Pinterest-ing concotions helped.

Thought I'd throw that back in.  Blech.

Ok, so here's where the project starts.  I started with wall paint.  It must be known...I LOVE to paint.  LOVE, LOVE, LOVE till my daddy takes my t-bird away love it.  In fact, I have completed a painting project every January 1st since 1999.  Rooms in my house or helping friends. Yep, it's just something I've always done.  I love to paint.  And I'm good at it.  No tape, no cheater tools.  Just me and my 3 inch brush trim, trim, trimming away on New Year's Day.  Have brush will travel.

ok, don't you DARE judge those disheveled shelves.  You can't really see the color here, but you can tell how different the cabinets look with the new color.
Oh!  and don't judge the burned out bulb.  PEOPLE!  I have priorities, you know.

Here's a better shot of the color.  This is two coats and the walls are done.  

Next up....brilliance or disaster.

Painting the floor tile.

This is me prepping the tile.  This is where it was a matter of degrees between brilliance and disaster.  After much sifering, I decided we weren't quite ready to rip out all of the tile and replace it.  [yes, yes, I was going to semi-Kaminski and put my own lipstick on this pig!]  Don't get me wrong, it'd make all the difference in there to put down a new floor, but the frugal mennonite in me would rather not go that far if I don't have to.

So....I did a little research and I learned it can be done.  Besides, as I justified to Sweet Sarah, while she sat on the couch curled in the fetal position and sounding like she may have deposited a lung during her last coughing jag, "What do I have to lose but my time? " If it doesn't work, we replace the tile.  If it works, I've saved a few thousand dollars.  Sounds like good economics to me!

First, I had to sand all of the tile.  All of it.  Let me remind you, how MUCH tile that is.  Scroll up five pictures.  Go on.  Scroll, scroll.

You're back?  SEE!  It's a LOT of tile.

Once, I sanded, I started the painting.  I was using a concrete garage floor paint.  It was challenging to say the least.  And remember, how I said I loved to paint?  Well, two things.....this project temporarily tempered my love to paint.  And this garage floor paint has the consistency of stain.   So painting it on a vertical surface was more of a challenge than I anticipated.  And because it was so thin, it also guaranteed that two coats were absolutely necessary.

 Here's an action shot.  I think Sweet Sarah ventured upstairs for a few minutes before retreating downstairs.  Kind of a duck  and cover action on her part.

Trimmed and ready to roll.

This is the first coat.  You can see how thin and spotty it is.  I spent several hours on my hands and knees on this cold tile.  To say I was stiff the next few days is an understatement.

Once I got the first coat down, I came up for air and headed down stairs to relax a bit.  Sweet Sarah went up to check out my progress.  Just as I was sinking into my chair I heard

"Oh gosh.  Oh goodness.  BABE!!!!!!"

I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter.  Away to the stairs I flew like a flash.  Tore down the hall and looked at the sash.

Yep!  Those are kitty prints.

It appeared that since I had vacated the room Teddy thought he should inspect my work.  Oh!  And look out the window too.

Check out his path.  

From the door to the toilet.  On the toilet he leaned to the sash.  Clever.

I tried to get him to recreate the shot.  He was having none of it.  

After recovering from Teddy Beuhler's adventures I was ready to start a second coat.

Actually, I'd like to say it was that easy and quick.  I waited 24 hours to put on the second coat.  The second coat went on much easier, but still didn't instill complete confidence in me that it was going to work.  It didn't appear that it was adhering to the tile and hardening like I thought it would.  But I pressed on.

Two coats down and then a seven day waiting period.  SEVEN DAYS!  Clearly, the scientists at Behr paints don't know I have the patience of a gnat.  And can't wait seven days for ANY project I'm working on.  Luckily, that little thing called work got in my way, so the seven days clipped by pretty well.  Sharing the guest bath the size of a closet, not so much.

The other factor that added to my patience quota was not having all of the supplies on hand to complete the project.  We were waiting for the shipment of our rock wall to arrive before we could put the finishing touches and call it a wrap.

Now, I'd like to say that Sweet Sarah and I installed stacked stone rock by rock to create the beautiful wall you see below.  But the truth is we installed stacked stone panel by panel.  All six of them.  Check it out!

Ok, give us a little credit.  While we werent mixing mortar and hand selecting each rock, we did have to pull out the circular saw and measure and use liquid nails and everything!  And in spite of the fact that not a single wall in The Drayer is square, we were able to trim and level and get this done with only three band aids and two sets of steri-strips.  Oh yes!  It was one of those, it happened so fast and I didn't even know how I did it moments.  But you know, go big or go home!  I got not one, but TWO fingers.  Right through the pads of my index and middle fingers.   I can't be sure, but I think Sweet Sarah had to put her head between her knees for a moment.

You know, most women couldn't have stood it.  Luckily, I'm not most women.

Once I got the bleeding stopped, we were back on track and we really couldn't believe how easy it was to install.  And I'm still impressed with how realistic it looks.  I mean think back to the fake brick paneling that we used to slap up in the 70's.  Wow, home improvement you've come so far!

So, all in all the projected lasted over the course of about ten days.  Not too bad.  And not too shabby results.  I'm still worried about the floor.  It has continued to harden over the last week.  But I'm just not sure how it will take the wear and tear.  I guess time will tell.  For now, it's just lipstick on a pig.  Except this time, the lipstick was done right.

See what you think.

Homegoods rocked out the accessories selections!

I made these shelves for $9 each.
And my basement Michael's store is always helpful to put displays together.

I will add another shelf over the commode, but Lowe's was out of the pipe I needed.