|My builder grade fireplace. Nice enough. Boring though.|
It always surprises me that heartache feels so much like....heartache.
But as one friend goes, another arrives. Even before my friend P left this morning, my daughter C was here. In fact both daughters are here now.
I went to yoga for the first time in 2 or 3 weeks. I went to the supermarket for groceries. Look, I'm doing what the living do. Except things like remembering the sentence I just read or wrote.
Today, with C here, I decided I needed projects. Let's put leather conditioner on the cat-scratched sofa. Let's paint the hearth orange. Let's take all the beach glass I've gathered over the last two years and tile the fireplace with it. This is the sort of project that could go horribly wrong if left to my own devices, but C is meticulous. First there were a couple hours of research, then beach glass washing and sorting.
Then portioning out the colors so they'll be somewhat evenly distributed.
And now we've begun a sort of practice layout so we won't be just winging it when we put the morsels of glass into the thinset.
Remember the Rolling Stones song "Paint It Black"?
I see my red door and I want it painted black