I had noticed rather drastic topographical changes in the surface of the paint while I was here last season but when I returned in November, the situation was no longer to be avoided. Black mould had established itself in various locations and the paint was literally throwing itself from the ceiling in sheets, chunks, chips and gently floating minute particles. Dishes in the drying rack had to be covered from the white mist of paint; preparing food consisted of towels covering everything while I leaned over the chopping board to prevent the paint from landing. Sweeping floors entailed sweeping all ceilings first; bedtime involved brushing the paint off of pillows and bedspread and morning wakeup included brushing paint chips out of my hair.
I really like Dona Lucy and her husband Stephan; we’ve known each other for five years now and they have always treated me like a (slightly odd) member of the family. I also dislike any form of confrontation but the snapping point for me was the day that paint landed on my laptop while I was working. The paint is white but I literally saw red at that moment!
What ensued was a gentle but firm conversation with their daughter, pointing out various areas and the resulting messes and clearly stating that I loved the apartment, did not want to make problems for the family but something had to be done before my husband arrived in February. I will “stretch” the truth when necessary and made it clear that no matter how much I loved living here, if my husband saw this he wouldn’t allow me to stay here any longer. In truth, my partner is my equal in decision making, but “male dominance and control of money” is a common attitude here and I chose to put the blame on him.
Well, shortly after that I was informed by both elders that I would be getting both a new roof and a new paint job for the apartment within the next few weeks. I was ecstatic and rather exuberant in my appreciation for their efforts and considered the situation dealt with.
A couple days later I was woken at 6am by the screeching sounds of tin being hauled, flung and dragged upon the patio and roof. Not a pleasant way to waken but I reassured myself that the new roof was happening and that would be worth tolerating the noise. It rained at 7:30 am, (a brief but amazing deluge) all work stopped and simply did not start again that day or any other.
December 24th started well with me in the kitchen by 7am creating “pudding” pies for my 10 year old friend, boiling a chicken and various vegetables for soup stock and thoroughly enjoying myself with my plans for the day.
That plan was completely waylaid by 8am.
The painting man arrived, complete with step stool, paint and assorted tools and I was informed that he was going to paint the apartment right now. In the course of the next four hours, every moveable piece of furniture was shoved out onto the patio, my computer was secured in its travel case and the propane stove disconnected.
I could hear him scrapping ceilings in the bathroom and bedroom while I packed up the main room. I could hear him moving my bed back and forth, his step stool screeching across the ceramic tiles and kept reassuring myself that all was well with his work.
I resorted to cleaning the bathroom while he worked in the main room. I swear the majority of the paint never got near the ceiling when I saw the evidence of smears and streaks dribbling down the tiled walls and the sprayed splatter of white paint that covered the floor.
I have stated clearly that I do not like housework but I also firmly believe that if you’re going to do something, do it right. I’m also not very mobile or flexible anymore so getting down on hands and knees is an orchestrated procedure. I was a fetching sight with my bucket of cleaning water, mop up rags and scratch pad in hand, kneeling on a sacrificial pillow and scrubbing every square inch of floor to remove the copious amounts of paint.
Dona Lucy is a rather mischievous woman and took grand delight in telling me that the new paint was my Christmas present. That was early in the morning when my sense of humour was still partially intact. She returned at 1pm to deliver me a plate of hot food and when she stuck her head into the bedroom to tell me it was on the table for me, I didn’t even bother trying to get up from the floor and quietly thanked her for the meal. I resorted to muttering obscenities under my breath, vigorously scouring the floor, entertaining thoughts of “Happy Ho Ho” to you while keeping my temper in check and managed to get half of the bedroom finished by 3pm.
That’s when I realized it was getting quite dark. The afternoon rains were about to arrive and I dashed about rescuing belongings from the patio before they got soaked. Finally by 5pm I had everything indoors, regardless of the state of the floors and was collapsed in my chair when my 10 year old friend arrived.
I had been expected at their house at 4pm and he was sent to check on me. During our conversation I learned that all the children were waiting to open their presents and would not be given permission to do so until I arrived. With abject apologies I assured him that I would shower, get dressed and get over to his house as soon as possible.
To be honest, the last thing I wanted to deal with at that point was any semblance of holiday cheer, small children or noise, but I dutifully arrived by 5 pm with a happy face pasted on and proceeded to make myself enjoy the evening. Thankfully I really enjoy the family and with judicious applications of rum and tamales, I had a thoroughly pleasant evening.
Christmas Day did not evoke any semblance of peace and serenity as the first thing I saw upon waking was peeling paint on the ceiling above me. When I removed the pillow from my face, it was still there. Shortly afterwards, after dragging my very sore body from my bed (remember the hands and knees scrubbing and furniture moving?) I realized the bathroom ceiling paint had simply erupted with chunks of paint hanging down, a fine mist of particulate matter drifting down and encasing not only my hairbrush but toothbrush as well.
I haven’t believed in Santa for a number of decades but at this point in time I swear I will be very, very careful about what I ask for in the future.
PS Anyone know a good roofer and professional house painter?
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