I am well-acquainted with the painted surfaces of my house, inch by inch, inside and out. I have actually had quite enough scaping and filling and sanding and trying to remove paint from my hair. (I’ve never been able to not get paint in my hair in spite of hats and kerchiefs and ponytails.)
I will never paint again.
Of course it’s a hopeless resolution, made just this summer and broken just last week.
There is this old wooden garden bench, home-made about fifty years ago by my children’s very dear but now-dead grandfather. It has been slowly shedding the paint he put on it, which was white like his house (and his hair, even without paint).
I would be happy with a paintless bench, but the Oregon rain would soon take it. I don’t know if my decision shows strength or weakness, but summer has gotten hot so at least the paint dried quickly.
I thought a lot about color. I kind of wanted to make it peacock blue (like Mrs. Peacock in Clue), then I considered the dark green of the shutters. In the end I used the pale green of the house siding, I guess because it was close to the white the bench had always been. (It may evolve to blue next time.)
If I had a garden shed, which I don’t, I could store the bench in there in the winter, because if I had a garden shed, which I don’t, it would be a HUGE garden shed and would accommodate all the lawn furniture as well as the tools –and maybe a small electric car, and, during bad weather, a few miniature sheep. But I don’t have a garden shed, and in the interest of marital bliss–and armistice–I shall move beyond this subject.
Here in dappled shade we see the newly painted but still clearly rustic bench, situated in what has recently been the intense heat of August.
Somehow the light reminds me of Luncheon of the Boating Party, and really as soon as the invisible garden shed is complete we must get a river installed, not to mention a nice French restaurant. (So much to do.)
Oh that’s my idea of a great party. I wonder if they had ice cream–the blackberries are ripe here and, once again, I made blackberry/brandy gelato…
In garden news, the Magnolia grandiflora produced a bloom on a limb down at people level. I love the orchid-like waxiness of the big white flowers, fragrant with a kind of fruity sweetness like they might belong in a salad but don’t.
More exciting was the first-ever bloom on this little mimosa tree.
This Chinese tree, also called a Silk Tree, has been grown in the U.S. since the 18th century. The baby one in my garden barely towers over the ferns, and has lived here for about three years. Finally there is one little fuzzy silky bloom, but not at all bloomlike–more like a resting fairy or something breaking through from a parallel dimension.
This morning, surprise!, we have cool gray skies.
Max stayed inside and spent some quality time with his pillow.