How to find heaven while still on earth ...

Have you ever thought about what heaven will look like? We decided last week it looks like this niche. This is the kind of thing that makes me happy. It blows my skirt up and floods me with thankfulness because I am so blessed to be able to work and make money doing something that beautifies the world.

While beautification and transformation are the underlying principles in practically everything I think about, it's not that way for everyone. Sometimes we get clients who just want faux finishes because the people down the street have them, or because they saw them at the Parade of Homes. We do the amazing job and they're happy, but not in a profound way. It's more like: "Okay, I can check that off my list."

But other times, we suggest color changes and make improvements that change the way our clients actually "feel" when they are in their homes. In this house with the heavenly niche, our client was absolutely ecstatic about the glorious changes we were making in her home. She thanked us profusely, and meant it. She was the most joyful person: funny, genuine, thankful. She was a blessing to us!

Back to the heavenly niche: You must know it was a collaborative effort. My very talented angel painter friend Mary Hulin started it by skimming out the monterrey drag texture (blek!). Monterrey is just hell on fine faux finishes, but Mary made this niche as smooth as a baby's bottom. Then, a day or so later, with my neck in a permanent right-cranked cramp from the dining room ceiling, I begged to do the plaster. A straight-ahead niche was a welcome break.

It has become our new favorite finish.

Across the way, this is the dining room ceiling that right-cranked my neck and later wiped Mary out. Here's the before:

Poor little boring thing is just begging for something to be done so it can stand out and shine! You know this upgrade feature wasn't cheap and so far wasn't living up to its potential!

And after! So pretty and elegant. And worth all the paint, plaster and aggravation.

If there's a moral to the story here (and isn't there always a moral to my stories?) it has to be this: Please go find your special purpose. Whatever blows your skirt up. It may take you the rest of your life, and it isn't going to be easy, filled with nothing but peace and love and puppies. But I promise that if you look and listen you will find it.

Next up: a dreary little bathroom that has become an embarrassment.

It's not easy being me

Oh ... I was going to do something really fabulous today, but instead I am killing time blogging because I read too fast for the stupid online defensive driving class. This proves, once again, that if something is designed for the masses, it will cater to the lowest common denominator.

Paige said the average person reads somewhere around a fifth grade level. I think I would agree, I suppose. I could have taken this class in half the time.

I don't do anything slow, I don't think. I walk fast. I talk fast. You should see me typing right now. It's fast. OK maybe I don't run fast. But I would if I actually wanted to run. But here's the deal: there is a story behind why I read so fast, despite my public school education designed for the masses.

It all can be traced back to good old Alpine Junior High School, where all my smart friends and I managed to learn something in spite of roaches and bats in the hallways and coaches for teachers. (ha! sorry if any of you read my blog!) Anyway, back in eighth grade reading, the students were divided into groups that rotated from station to station. One of the stations was a film projector contraption that flashed sentences onto the wall. The goal was to gradually increase your reading speed. Except that my group, a bunch of smart-alecs to be sure, would turn the machine up as fast as it would go. We were just challenging ourselves, and somehow we got away with this really bad behavior. We did end up being tested on our comprehension, so you couldn't go so fast that you couldn't read it. We did all want to make As, you know, even though we were above-average juvenile delinquents.

The moral of the story? Or, where am I going with this? This is at least one very good example of how goofing off in school pays off. I am a super-quick reader now all because of the silliness of me, my best friend Kim Elliott, Jeff Stump, Mark Poteet and I think maybe Jimmy Kim.

All of which brings me back to my online defensive driving course that is keeping me from my super-exciting StucoLux installation. I do still have a decorative painting business. But today, it was forced to take a backseat to me trying to avoid a warrant for my arrest due to the ticket I got for allegedly speeding in Del Rio. And if I can't drive without getting thrown in jail, I can't very well run a business that requires me to drive.

Tomorrow ... back to my StucoLux brilliance. Wish me luck.

A death grip on my basket

I said when MY kids started kindergarten I wouldn't freak out. Weepy mothers are so cliche'. I dropped my basket when they turned one, but only because I realized I had been a zombie for an entire year. It was all about me, not related to the fact that they were getting older and growing up too fast. Since then, they keep getting older, and I've only had a few scattered times when I was creeping toward a basket-dropping wipeout. Luckily, I've been able to recognize it and head it off at the pass by spending some reflective time alone, out of the fray that is our normal, everyday world.

We went to West Texas. We know the way, and we can enjoy mostly free accommodations. It was the natural choice. And, there's always more to see.

Last week, I took some time with one of my bestest friends ever, the one who gave me the verbage "dropped my basket" in the first place, and my other favorite person in the world, my oldest daughter. (Hint: everybody is my favorite. If I'm talking to you, you're my favorite. Each one of my daughters is the most beautiful girl in the world, depending on who's in my lap). Anyway, we took the plunge to take some time away, at the most inopportune time, and with not a lot of funds to fund the time. The intention was to take some time away, spend some time together, see something new, and restore our creative energy. I have therefore not dropped my basket ... yet.

My oldest daughter, who is 14, actually had a good time with a couple of old broads who can be pretty silly and who really like to share their wisdom, according to us, such that it is. She did not jump out of the car, she saw some new things, she did not complain, and she actually started reading a book. Mission accomplished!

My daughter is the master of self-portraits. Notice: she's smiling!

I realized that the funny thing about time is: you have to take it. Steal it. Be really really greedy with it. You'll never get it back. It will never be a better time.

We went to two baseball games. Go Big Bend Cowboys!

Then, it was back to the real world. A world in which my husband works in the mortgage indusry and my painted groove is dependent upon construction and remodeling and extravagant purchases. These are challenging times. But seriously all you can do is get up everyday and go do what it is that you do really well and be fair to people. So far that been a very effective policy. The days go by and all is basically well. It also could be so much worse.

So the moral of the story is, despite all of this, I have a whacky sense of peace. All the trials and tribulations make my sweet little babies going to school (and our nanny who I love like one of my own going her own way, too), seem manageable. A stressful distraction. Diversion? I have faith it's all good. Apparently, this is what faith is all about. It's easy to have faith when life is gravy.

You won't find any gravy around here, but we have lots of love and faith. Oh my gosh, but there's so much freedom in that -- if you can get past the fact that current circumstances are kind of scary and not real luxurious. So I'm smiling, teeth-gritted, with a death grip on my basket.

In praise of 6-hour car rides, handy husbands & wild West Texas storms

My name is Sami and I am addicted to West Texas. I have many issues. You might remember in March I developed a new cloud neurosis. Today on our way home from our 24-hour trek to West Texas and back, Ryan pulled my nose out of my magazine to point out some seriously ominous clouds.


I immediately reached for my camera, and then proceeded to get all wiggly and freakish when the pictures turned out really great. I could not wait to get home and share them with the world:

I saw the clouds above first. Check out all the variations of dark bluish gray, and that one little white puffy cloud.

The following clouds were to the left of our car. I'm saying these would be to the north ... For at least 50 to 75 miles, we drove right alongside this storm system, which kept nicely to itself on the left.

Over to the right, pretty whitish clouds and blue skies.

This exit sign shows all you other West Texas freaks right where we were. I captured this picture rolling along about 85 mph... Pretty good huh? Now you see why I was getting all wiggly and freakish.

Every so often, we had some good lightning, so the storm could show us it was serious.

Did you realize you can be a cracker-jack mortgage guy, talk on the cell phone, and drive through storms on I-10 and make your wife really, really happy with 24-hour treks to West Texas? Who says men can't multi-task? Cell service on I-10 is greatly improved! Back in the day we lost service in Kerrville.

Some people think we're nuts for going on long 6-hour trips to West Texas together, but can I let you in on a little secret? This is the only time we get to think, plan, talk and strategize about our life, our marriage, our kids and careers. The rest of the time we're just making it through the days. Moral of the story: trap yourselves in a car for six hours and see what happens.

OK so then, I turned my attention to what was going on behind the car. Dork alert! The wind was blowing pretty hard, which is normal even without a storm because this is all in the vicinity of the wind farms.

And now for the object of all my affection, and the destination for our 24-hour West Texas trek. See that hideous aluminum window to the left of the electrical boxes? Well, it's going bye-bye. We had to go out there and get good measurements for the new windows! The house is set to get its new paint job in July, and efficient husband doesn't think it will be efficient to paint the whole house and then later rip out the windows and then put up new trim and repaint the trim. He has a point, and since I got to go to West Texas, I was an enthusiastic supporter of his plan.

Notice the beautiful blue paint color Abbey Branch (the famous designer) helped me select. SW Oceanside -- I love it. To the right of the hideous brown, wood-rotted trim board, you can see the future paint color for the body of the house -- SW Crater Gray.

And while you're admiring the door, did you spy the fabulous landing/mini-deck my super-handy, hunk of a husband built a few months ago? If only I could show you the previous way you got into the house. Let's just say it involved a homemade step and a wooden pallet. Very classy.

Life is good, y'all.

And the moral of the story is...

Like my Papa always said: There's a lid for every pot.