one red wall

It has been a busy weekend. I painted the wall, after twenty years of saying that red is psychologically the worst color choice. But, psychologically speaking, who gives a shit? Its the only color I loved. Terra Cotta Tile by Hewlitt-Packard or something like that. Benjamin Moore. That's it.

So I painted the wall. I am vascillating about sofa pillows. And all of this is meaningless. I hopped on my scooter this morning. Husband off doing the Bridge Pedal. The Burnide bridge was closed because of all the cyclists, so I had to cross the Hawthorne Bridge and I hate going across that metal grate on my scooter. It feels like I am driving on Wesson oil. It is terror. And terror in slow-motion this morning because everyone else in the world also had to use the Hawthorne. So, I lived, and drove on up to 23rd for a little tiny bit of shopping. NW 23rd, where the homeless girls wear perfect tatters and smell of Shalimar.

I found one great thing, but couldnt' bring it home on my scooter, so left it in the hands of the merchant and will go back with the truck later. Now, does this mean I wasted gas? Dammit. I am certainly wasting money, but I have wandered shop to shop for weeks now, since the furniture came, to find just the right thing to fill a vacant spot in my living room. And I finally found her on 23rd. No surprise to you shoppers out there. But I have to see everything before I am sure. It is a rusted metal doll manekin. Is that spelled correctly? It is only about two feet tall, so not like the real thing. But she is bald, and almost scary. I love her. I can make hats for her on holidays. I'll work up a little two-inch tall witch hat for halloween. Just you wait.

So, there's my wall. It brings the room back to some kind of life after killing it with coffee bean black furniture.

I posted the picture of Ida on that post if you want to look back.