Not all fun and games ...

Three quarters of the way through my work day today, and after the toilets backed up and the A/C was barely adequate, I slipped in some mysterious water. It looked pretty much like on cartoons, where the feet fly out to the side and the body crashes to the ground.

In my case, I slipped in the water, my feet flew out to the side, to the left to be specific, and my glasses went flying, breaking into two pieces. The glamorous young working women in treacherously high-heeled pumps in the accounting firm did not see this spectacle, thank God. There I was busting my ass ... wearing oh-so-fashion-forward Crocs. And a gray-green Old Navy t-shirt. Not glamorous by any means, even if they were to envy my free and creative life. They looked better.

So I fly into the air, once my feet left the floor. And seconds later I crash onto my right hip onto the Saltillo tile floor. It is Saltillo tile laid in a brich patter, in case you're wondering. I'm happy to report that my hip did not crack or break, so I'm taking this as a good sign that my bone density is OK.

Now that I'm home and have had a glass of wine, strange aches and pains are beginning to creep in. My left ankle hurts, as well as various other places, including my left hip, which makes no sense. I'm wearing my sunglasses, so that I can see. You know, because my regular glasses broke into two pieces. I have been jarred, I tell you.

Just wanted y'all to know that this painted groove of mine is not near as glamorous as you might imagine. No complaints ... I'm just saying.

Thursday was my drop-dead date to deliver some cabinet doors I was painting for my friend Wendy. She started out as my client at least eight years ago, but we soon realized that we had to be friends. We had too many issues in common, apparently. Wendy and her husband own a nursing home in Seguin. Let me rephrase that. It is Nesbit Living & Recovery Center.

The reason I'm being asked to paint stuff for her nursing home is because Nesbit LRC is in the midst of a huge renovation that I must say has actually impressed me. And I'm a tough customer because I've had an aversion to nursing homes going waaaay back. Am I alone in this? By this point I'm sure you're wondering where is she going with this rambling blog (or perhaps you're used to it). On Thursday I decided it would be smart to deliver the doors, have them installed on the entertainment cabinet, and then put the final antiquing stain on them while they were hanging. Much easier for me, and much less likely that I would screw them up in transit.

Sounds like a pretty boring story, huh? Well, actually no. Wendy and I decided to go to lunch first. This required me to dress presentably for the first time in weeks, so I wore my trusty uniform CAbi skirt in a jungle print. For my top I wore a faded, brown Old Navy t-shirt, thinking it wouldn't be any big deal if I got stain on it. So I'm walking down the hallway to the Recreation Room where my cabinet was. I zipped by a poor older resident once or twice, walking fast and erratic like I alwasy do. All the while this poor little lady (or so I would assume, not knowing) is oonching herself down the hallway in her wheel chair because, heck, she doesn't have anything better to do. And I SWEAR TO YOU she mumbled under her breath that my skirt was TOO SHORT!

Except you know how older women never mumbled anything. You can always hear it just fine. I have to admit, it is too short. I mean really, I am almost 44. My grandmother would have said the same thing. It was hilarious. And I smiled. It made me think of my Mama.

Ok, as if that's not enough to have made my day, that's only the first thing. I started staining and antiquing and this precious woman came in for what I learned were scheduled domino games. She watched me for a long time and then walked over to me. "This is your calling," she said, as a statement of fact. Wow! I immediately recognized her as a messenger. "Yes, ma'am," I said. "It is. And it doesn't even feel like work." She just smiled, knowingly, and went to find her seat.

Another lady was sitting at a domino table, just waiting for some other players to come join her. She told me she was a pretty fierce player. I asked her if she takes all their money. She said "oh they don't let me have any money." I thought that was too bad. She would probably be able to really supplement her Social Security income if they'd let her gamble every now and again.

So I kept on and the games got going. The entire room filled up. Two ladies, one of which was a little combative, got a little testy, and was told she'd have to leave. It reminded me of someone who got kicked out of a bar one time in Mexico. I wondered if I'll get kicked out of the domino games when I'm an old lady.

All the while, I was pondering that maybe getting old and going to the nursing home is only the worst thing that can happen to you if that's what you think is the worst thing that can happen to you. Like every other aspect of life, it's all how you look at it. I got to thinking about my grandmother, who was a social butterfly and wasn't ever overjoyed to be a housewife way out on a farm in the country. We thought she lived in paradise and led the perfect life, but I think she found it unglamorous and lonely. She loved to go to town, shop, and go with her friend Bonnie for a "cup of coffee and piece of pie." I think she might have liked the nursing home if she had lived long enough to go there.

Well if that wasn't enough, then a group of kids from Vacation Bible School at Faith Lutheran Church came in to sing some songs about God. I was thinking: "what more can happen to make this a wonderful day?" And I had been hoping to sneak in, do my thing, and get out of there as fast as possible. Ha!

Back to what Wendy and her husband David are doing at Nesbit LRC. This is one of the room numbers. Wendy has really gone above and beyond to make it homey and beautiful, transforming what had been institutional and sterile in 1990s pinks and mauves. If a nursing home can look more like a resort, this one is well on its way, with warm, earthy colors and beautiful artwork. All I'm saying is if I have to go one day, just take me there. But I may just have to sneak in some money for the domino and card games...

I'd like to thank God, and Betsy, and Ryan, and my guts

...


Remember the ugly duckling that was missing a porch or any sort of proper entryway?? Of course you do ... because I'm forever talking or blogging about my favorite place on earth all the time. My husband says I can work Marathon into any conversation. I would be offended if he wasn't right.


Anyway, the picture above is the before picture, on a good day when it was snowing. And the pictures below are the after. I never thought I'd ever see the day when the outside of the house looked as good as the inside.


This is the after. Well, sort of. We're still working on it. New roof. New windows. New paint. I cannot express the feeling of accomplishment.

See the one and only decorative architectural element on this house? The little triangle? Well, I spent all day Sunday painting all that. Yikes. I also forgot sunscreen for some odd reason so I'm looking a little tan and crusty. My hair is getting redder by the minute.


Did you notice the interesting cedar porch? ... I'm not even going to start bragging on my husband again. It's getting old. He doesn't want people to start hating on him once they understand his brilliance and perfectness. OK, yeah, he's still a man and annoying and I don't want him getting the "big-head."

Can you believe this front door mat? I bought it at Tuesday Morning for $9, not realizing it would be the most perfect, matching doormat ever. The blue is perfect. The yellow/gold blends as well. We originally had grand visions of building a new front porch, with flagstone. And then we got realistic and decided to keep the regular, old step. It gets you in the house. And it was free. I love the front door.

OK, let's all flash forward and imagine my Academy Award winning moment: "I would like to thank first, my husband, Ryan, for insisting on the main body-of-the-house-color, SW Crater Gray, when I was waffling toward some safe earthtone. Thank you hunky man in Castroville who told me the name of the paint of his house when Ryan made me get out and go hold my paint fan up to the house...


"And thank you, world-famous Abbey Branch, for suggesting an interesting blue for the doors and windows as a Southwesty homage. Once we got new windows we couldn't paint them blue. The color is Sherwin Williams Oceanside. It's awesome, even though there's not an ocean anywhere near here. Good thing because I'm not a fan of oceans. I'm a mountain girl.


Before the music starts playing to scoot me off the stage, I'd like to thank myself for having the balls to paint the trim Sherwin Williams Brassy. It's avocado-ish, and limey, and gorgeous. Somehow it's perfect. Thank you, my husband, for not being a metrosexual freak and second-guessing me. Thank you, Mom, for not voicing your doubts, and being patient until it all came together.


In the words of Joe Danner in 1983, it's "fannnnnntastic!!!"

The sweetest thing I've ever seen

Caroline & Catherine

Today I witnessed the sweetest thing I've ever seen. And the best part was I was able to immediately recognize it, and feel it and enjoy it, as the sweetest, most loving gesture anybody could ever see. It was one of those moments you just have to cross your hands across your chest over your heart and say "ahhhh."



That we ended up in church today was in itself a whole other story. I will spare you the hilarity of that for another day. Anyway, we sneaked into church late and sat in the back. We usually sit in the front, up on the right. I've been a right-hand-side-of-church-sitter my entire life. I learned last week that my brother is too. Of course. Toward the end of the service, my husband and I walked with our two little girls up to the altar rail and kneeled for communion. In our church, you kneel there at the altar and the priest comes by and gives you communion in your cupped hands, saying: "the body of Christ, the bread of heaven."

You take the body of Christ, bread of heaven, which is really a little tasteless wafer, and put it in your mouth. Then, along comes another guy (or gal) and they say something about the wine. I drink from the cup because I don't think God's going to let me get sick and die from drinking wine in a silver cup. Some people who are more squeamish dip their little bread of heaven into the cup. Now the one cool thing about Episcopal churches is that the wine is real. To me, grape juice and a cracker is just ridiculous. I'm already going out on a limb trying to think this is the body of Christ, the bread of heaven. Don't insult me with grape juice and a saltine.



The other cool thing about the Episcopal church is that kids who want to join the rest of the body of Christ by getting a little piece of the body of Christ can take communion whenever they want to take it. Second grade is not the magic age. You do not have to take a class and get a white dress, like we all did in Catholic church. Now, if the little kids are really young, and/or their parents have decided they shouldn't take the body of Christ yet, then the priest will give them a nice little blessing on their sweet little heads. Even the blessing is touching, especially if they really mean it, like our old priest Jay did.



Anyway, back to my story. As you might imagine, my little girls were not content getting a nice little blessing on their heads. They wanted to get a piece of the body of Christ and would holler as much, right up there at the altar. "Hey, why can't I have the body of Chriiiiiiisttttttt??" Caroline whined on a couple of occasions. So finally, to save myself the embarassment mostly, and also because I really didn't like the excuse that they weren't old enough to join the rest of the body of Christ in taking the body of Christ -- like second-class citizens or something, we relented and taught them how to hold their little hands out and say "Amen."



Today, things were a little off. A new, interim priest they didn't recognize was bringing the body of Christ, bread of heaven, so instead of putting her precious little hands up, cupped all cute together, Caroline just bowed her head. My guess was she did it more from shyness than anything else. The priest gave her a blessing on her sweet little head and then turned to Catherine.



Catherine, kneeling at the altar, in a very fancy dress and her curly hair pulled up in a high ponytail, held her little hands up. The priest placed the communion into her hands, saying "the body of Christ, the bread of heaven." Then, with her right hand, she picked up the bread of heaven and immediately, without a minute's delay, broke the little wafer in half and handed one piece to her sister.



Oh my gosh. My heart just melted! It was just the most loving, precious thing I had ever seen. I always hear people refer to "God moments," and this morning I most certainly experienced one. That kind of love ... it's amazing.

Hours later, it occurs to me (again) that we can learn a lot from little kids. You know, when we're not yelling at them to stop fighting or to eat their dinner or whatever else they do when they're being kids and we're being frazzled parents doing the best we can with what we have. Our job is only to be aware enough to find the lesson.

Sappy Salute to Kuhny ... Happy Father's Day

Tomorrow is Father's Day, and I couldn't think of anything better to blog about than the guy who loves me, supports me in this crazy painted groove of mine, and, most of all is my kids' father. Throughout my life, I can think of so many times I found myself standing in front of all the Father's Day cards and no card seemed to fit my particular father, or my particular husband for that matter. Then one day, I met the guy we call Kuhny, and he totally fit the bill, and the card. Buying Father's Day or anniversary cards for him is a snap.

So in lieu of a card, here's my sappy salute to my husband and the father of my girls. He certainly is a keeper.


He loves his Mama, which is always a good sign when selecting a man. I can't say I've always paid attention to such important details as family dynamics and how the father treats the mother and how the son feels about his mother. I generally used to look for things like chemistry, a nice backside, and other equally short-term attributes. But somehow this go-around, I got it right. He loves his mother, but not so much that he's a mama's boy. His father loves his mother -- you get the idea. His dad is kind, and he's kind. From the first day he met my daughter Mary, he liked her but not too much to be creepy. To this day, he still loves her through her teenager years, even though she doesn't quite know how to show him love back. She'll get it one day. I have faith.



Not only is he kind, but he is fun. The bonus is he is kind and fun, yet responsible and dependable. He likes good music, and for some reason likes me even when I look like a corpse in need of lipstick (like in this picture taken at a Ray Wylie Hubbard show). We met at a Gary Stewart concert. That says a lot, right there.


We got married in April 2001. A few years later, my doctor told me our chances of having kids the normal way were slim to none. As I bawled my head off after the doctor's appointment, trying to tell him the grim news via cell phone, he was very matter of fact: "we'll figure it out." A short year later, God helped the best doctors and nurses in the world help us create Catherine and Caroline. And that's when my husband really showed me the kind of man he is.

For him, his kids are not an imposition. He does not "babysit" his kids. When I feel the need to get away from the house and hang out with my girlfriends, he doesn't give me a minute's grief. We're in it together. It' so refreshing.

Oooh, and does he ever loves his girls! Here, he's dancing with Catherine at a Two Tons of Steel show at Gruene Hall.

And those girls love their Daddy. Here, he and Caroline walk to the car after my cousin's wedding. This is one of my favorite photos. Caroline has her Daddy's hand in one hand, and her puppy in their other.

He can light a chimenea like nobody's business. And, he humors me and loves West Texas too. He also gets attached to stuff. For example, he will not turn loose of this Bush/Cheney t-shirt from the 2004 election. I've implied it may disappear one day. "You better not even think about it," he has warned me.

He balances life with business. Throughout our entire dating and married life, he's been on this cell phone, helping people buy and refinance their dream homes. He really, seriously, cares about the mortgage business and helping his clients finance their dreams. One time back when he worked for Wells Fargo, there was a delay in closing a loan for a single, older female client. It wasn't even his fault, but I swear he actually helped move her stuff from a moving truck into a storage unit, and put her up in a hotel for the weekend. I thought he was crazy at the time. Now I can see how that kind of dedication to his clients has paid off.

He likes my crazy family and all its extensions. Here he is at The Oak, listening to a tall tale told by Jason Pence. Isn't he adorable?

Teaching Catherine to play Uno. Yes, I realize she's not wearing any clothes and it's January (the year is wrong on the date stamp). Did I mention he's understanding of idiosyncracies?

I don't know how many men are avid readers of my blog: I'd guess more of you are of the female persuasion. But just in case there's a stray male here and there, can I let you in on a secret? Being a stand-up husband and father is very attractive to a woman. It goes a long, long way toward creating a loving, happy wife who isn't resentful and bitchy. He's not some kind of wimp. He still drives me crazy and leaves his underwear in this strange little pile in one corner of the bathroom. But he also proves there are still good men out there, and men have the ability to be good men if they decide to be good men. It's a decision. And thank God he made it.

So Happy Fathers' Day Kuhny. We all are blessed to have you.

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.

Stars aligned, dream job wrapped, all is well...Amen

Sometimes, everything works out beautifully. A great job comes to me, great clients building a beautiful home in a dreamy development, great builder, agreeable designer. Pinch me. The job I finished today was just such a job. It really was wonderful in every way, this despite the fact that the clients moved in probably a month too soon. Which means they've been living with me, and cabinet makers and stainers and landscapers and pool guys and bobcat drivers and blind installers and bed bringers and rock layers and alarm putter-inner-testers all underfoot, oh just for the last month.

So when I say they are great clients, let me stress how wonderful they are because never once did they express seething hatred for anyone scurrying around their new dream home, in their way, at all hours of their newly retired day. I think I'm going to miss them.


This picture hardly reflects the richness of this kitchen island. I can't say how impressed I am with the Faux Effects Stain & Seal. I was always a Gel Stain girl. But on this job, I didn't kill any brain cells (that I know of) using anything oil-based. Yay for my brain, right?

All the cabinetry in the kitchen is stained a dark walnut-ish stain on knotty alder. They're beautiful cabinets, but the island is set off with an antiqued paint finish. The color is similar to Sherwin Williams' Tatami Tan, but it's really a special mix of Camel and Woody Yellow Setcoat, which makes it so much more durable.

The saying "it's all in the details" is such an understatement with this home. This ceiling treatment is so fabulous. It's in the family room and the man of the home's study/office. Gorgeous.

Are these travertine floors to die for or what? They're laid on the diagonal with the little marble insets. These floors delayed the job oh, a month or so. But I'd say they were well worth it. My client just had to have this chair and its twin. I think they look pretty good with my walls, which are very subtle, not screaming at you "look at me, I'm faux painted!!!!"

Here's another look at the hand-troweled walls. My antiquing finish, what we once called "tea-staining" was a custom blend of Faux Effects Faux Creme Clear, Earth Brown and Italian Sienna.

The powder room turned out really cool. The designer wanted to use one of those new hand-painted wallpapers, but the cost was apparently more than the client felt necessary. I was able to come up with something just as dramatic using a basecoat of Dark Brown Setcoat, plus Lusterstone in Charred Olive, Charred Gold, and a couple of gold Metalglow colors mixed with glaze. It is awesome. The picture above gives you a little bit of a hint, but hardly does justice. I seriously need to hire someone to go take pictures of this house and think I will once they really move in and install their artwork and decor.

So that's what I've been doing. I don't know what I'm going to do with myself now that I don't need to drive almost to Boerne everyday. But I'm sure I'll figure out something. La Posada is calling me: "Samiiiiii, I miss you ..... I'm only three hours away ..... I promise no drug lords will kidnap you while you loll about safely beside the pool with the swim up bar ..... "

This is why I can barely move ... and I need your help!

Apparently I used my hip flexors in the making of this patio down by the water. I know this because any time I try to move in such a way that my hips are involved, pain shoots up and down and all around my body. I am bone tired.

But it was the best weekend. I worked in the yard almost the entire time, and let the house go to hell in a hand basket. It's a wreck, but our outdoor living space is coming along nicely. I've always preferred to be out in the yard than cooped up in the house. I'm seriously too lazy to limp to the bathtub.

We raked gravel back and forth and then positioned all these rocks. And then, to be really professional for the first time ever, I actually used a level to make sure it was all straight -- and level. So once I found just the right rock and put it into position, it wouldn't be level. So we had to flip it up, re-level the gravel to compensate and then check it again. And again, and then over again. Wish I would have used a level that time I was in a mud freakout after the first flood and we decided we could lay a stone sidewalk all by ourselves. It's still there and highly serviceable, but do be careful if arriving or departing in the dark or drunk, or in heels.

Did I mention I also carried most of all these rocks all by myself, especially after my husband had to move on to other parts of this project, like going to Home Depot and picking out boards. And then measuring and placing the boards on the new dock. You can see part of the new dock under construction in the picture above.

And then, we had enough gravel so I decided to lay some rock all around the base of the outdoor shower. That meant carting all the rocks I wanted to use across the yard and doing the whole process over again. But it was easier because I didn't use such big rocks. I did manage to moan and groan, and walk like an old woman, from one side of the yard to the other. A few times, I'd sit down to make the job easier and couldn't quite get back up.

Oh and I forgot this part: most of these rocks were once part of a walkway we put in four years ago so that Paige would have somewhere nice to walk down the aisle when she and Ruben got married in our yard, down by the water. It was a beautiful wedding. But the rocks turned out to be a hassle for our yardman to weed-eat and edge around. So that yardman, who just happens to be my husband, was all too happy to rip them out and help me move them down by the water. Some of these rocks were so big we had to really put on our German engineering hats and make us a homemade fulcrum with a board and a shovel.

Now imagine if you can, a firepit, with some comfy Adirondack chairs around it. I would love some other sort of chair, just because Adirondacks are the obvious choice, but I don't know what kind. Something cushy with a cushion would be great, but it would get dirty, and wet, and would probably blow into the river every time there was a storm. And I want them to be able to stay outside all the time, because I know myself and I wouldn't feel like traipsing them back and forth. Suggestions?

I don't exactly know what the firepit should look like yet, so I'm open to ideas on this as well. So far, my big idea is a bowl shaped pit, with some kind of custom design cut out along the top, to form a border. And then it potentially would sit in a low stand. Both these ideas will require a nice welder I don't yet know but will have to find.

To close, here's a picture of two of my helpers, Catherine and Bambi. Aren't they growing up to be big girls?

Peligro! This is not politically correct!

I was at work the other day, slowly wearing away all the cartilage in my shoulders. The stone masons and pool guys outside were toiling in the burning hot sun, having a heck of a time: laughing, smiling, joking amongst themselves. Landscaper guys were moving dirt and mulch all around. The basecoat painters were figuring out how to seal the ceilings of the porches when there was “muy wind.” The cabinet makers were working at a snail’s pace.

And that’s when I started thinking about this blog post. Really, my favorite thing about my job is that while I am transforming people’s spaces, I get to pray and think and ponder big issues. What a bonus. I am one lucky girl.

While I was antiquing the hand-troweled walls on a brand-new dream home to make them look like an old hacienda, I was struck by the differences between the different kinds of subcontractors I come across on the job. I spend a lot of time with subcontractors. Actually, I are one. I am always the only female on the job, and generally, I'm one of the only white ones, which brings me to the point of this post.

Did you know that there are big differences between white subcontractors and Mexican subcontractors? Actually, not all of them are Mexican. One of my favorite fellow painter friends was from Honduras. He figured out how to get himself all the way to Texas all by himself when he was just a boy, and has never seen his family since. He probably never will. It’s not like he can go for a visit on Christmas vacation.

Just in case any of you are getting over-heated because I’m using terms like girl, Mexican, white, etc., just save yourselves the indignation. I warned you this wouldn’t be politically correct. I'm a girl and I'm white. That's just the way it is. I do know all the politically-correct ways to speak and I do it because I'm educated and not racist and really wish we could “all just get along.” Bothering with all that PC speech is also quite tiring.

Getting back to the differences between Hispanic subcontractors and white subcontractors, I can tell you this. The Hispanic ones are just a whole lot more enjoyable to work with on the job. I admire the hell out of them. They work their butts off. They get to the job early and they work all day. But you know what I like best? They smile and laugh and joke with each other while they're doing it. In the blazing hot sun, putting in a pool they'll never get to swim in, they figure out how to have a good time.

I hate to break it to you that white subcontractors are not quite so enjoyable. Their example is not quite so inspiring. Generally, they tend to bitch and moan. It's so unattractive. Their helper is hurt. The job is complicated and hard. Wah wah wah. They get there about 10:30. Leave around 2 p.m. or 3 p.m. If I’m painting in front of a doorway, the white guy will expect me to move my ladder. There are at last three other doors he could use, but I’m in his way.

Yesterday with "muy wind,” the basecoat painter figured out how to seal all the porch ceilings anyway. A white guy would have said he had to come back next week when it wasn't so windy. You think I'm joking. Seriously, I'm not.

White contractors also like to complain about the Mexicans coming in and taking over the trades. And that's probably true. People like a bargain. They also like workers who work hard and show up and are somewhat thankful for the work. There’s another reason white guys are in the trades. Because they like to smoke dope and can’t pass the drug tests for other jobs. Oooooh, did she really write that? It’s one of my theories and I’m sticking to it. That’s the other reason they’re bitter. They smoke dope and have no ambition and barely get by. All of which is sure to make a man grouchy. Particularly when you work in fabulous homes you won’t ever come close to making your own.

One time, on the job with nice guy from Honduras, all the big fat white mediocre housekeeper could do was complain about Mexicans being in the house, as if they were spreading leprosy or something. I guess she thought since I was white I would agree with her. The Mexicans in the house were painting and remodeling. I couldn’t help but advise the homeowner. The next time I was there, a lovely Mexican woman, the wife of the main painter, had taken her place. It was so nice working there with her Christian music playing and all the bad energy from the big fat bitter white maid long gone. The house was also a lot cleaner.

On the job, Mexican subcontractors are more fun to work around. They like to sing. And it’s funny because they really think they can sing well even when they don’t. The white guys are generally grouchy and wishing they were somewhere else.

As I was pondering all this on the job the other day, it occurred to me how much I like to work. I actually like hard work and admire others who work hard (along with people who are smart, and food that is fresh.) I like to accomplish projects and get stuff done. It makes me feel good. I am fulfilled. I wondered how I got to be this way. How do you instill this kind of work ethic in a person, particularly your child? Why am I happy that I climbed a ladder for seven hours and can barely move around without wincing from my various old lady aches and pains? I could have a desk job sitting on my rear, but I don’t want one. Why do some admire sedentary executives in suits over masters of rock work?

The other reason the trades are so fulfilling is because you get a job and you do the job and the job gets finished. It's not like one of those jobs that just keeps on coming and you have no sense of completion. It makes me think of Newman the mailman on Seinfeld. When I finish for the day and limp on out to my truck, I can see what I've done. Usually I'm happy about it. Sometimes I'm all angst-ridden, not in love with it, generally tormented. It’s not all fun and games.

To conclude, I'll leave you with this. It's from the Bible. "The alien living with you must be treated as one of your native-born. Love him as yourself, for you were aliens in Egypt. I am the LORD your God." -- Leviticus 19:34

Oh, and after Moses told everybody what God said in Leviticus, that other guy, Jesus, said “Love your neighbor as yourself.”

That ought to throw some gas on the fire. I’ll save my comparisons between the Israelites and Mexicans in the promised land for another day …

Passion & Photography: Delary Harborth

It can't all be about paint. Sometimes other media captures my fancy and I just have to share it with you. So today's subject is photography.


This particular story began a few years ago when my youngest brother, Shay, introduced us one Christmas Eve to an interesting and beautiful young woman named DJ. She was really hip and cool and played Pink songs for my daughter and nieces when they were still young and impressionable (now we learn things from them). My daughter Mary connected with her right away, so much so that she told me that if I was to die suddenly that she'd want to go live with CJ and Shay. I could understand that because DJ is full of that mother-hen nervous energy that Mary would recognize and feel comfortable with.

DJ has an intense amount of energy all bundled up in her body, so much so that when I am around her I feel that my hair is blowing back like I'm in a wind tunnel. Anyone who out-nervouses me is a force to be contended with, I say. I just love her and am so happy that she is realizing her dream, just like I am.

Getting back to the story, as you might imagine, she and my brother fell in love and got married. And all along the way through these last six or so years (maybe more), she has been transforming herself into an amazing photographer. You all know how dedicated I am to transformation, so that's why I decided I had to share her with you. First I must disclose I don't know much about photography. I only know it's good when I see it. But I am an expert in passion and big hearts and genuineness and that's what I think Delary (her real name) instills in every photograph. She's amazing, simply because she is seriously and genuinely interested in discovering the truth and beauty in every person.


She took this photo one day of some girl named Mary. Oh yeah... she's my daughter, looking a little disturbingly mature.




As a mother, I like this one a little more.

This was our Christmas picture for 2008. What's amazing here is how relaxed my girls are. Every personality is captured. The blonde one on the right is historically difficult and uncooperative at picture time. But look at her. Somehow DJ brought out Miss Personality.



In the picture below, DJ photographed Lizeth at my request, according to my ulterior motives. I think Lizeth is the most beautiful person. She is so loving and kind and peaceful, all qualities I admire immensely because I don't consider myself loving and kind and peaceful. Lizeth has cared for my girls for four years now, as if they were her own, without ever making me feel like less than a mother.




I wanted DJ to take Lizeth's picture so I could show Lizeth how beautiful she is. Somehow Lizeth didn't get the memo that she's beautiful. And this was my way of showing her how wrong she has been all these years.

DJ also captures ordinary, everyday occurrences because she's obsessed with photography, just like I'm obsessed with paint. She brings her fancy schmancy camera to every family get-together. And we are all so fortunate because of it. I will treasure these pictures forever. In the picture below, my two girls and my little niece Piper were swinging in their Paw Paw's porch swing.




They were captured, at that moment, so honest and happy. And so content to just be swinging, together.





This picture makes me all teary eyed now. Just imagine how I'll feel about this picture when Caroline is grown up and Paw Paw and his crazy place in the country are just memories. This photograph froze in time, what had been a whole lot of crazy, energetic motion. Caroline had been running up that little dirt pile and down, over and over, like a horse, because she pretends she's Spirit. She stopped, for just this moment, when DJ got her attention. And her four-year-old little self will never be just this way ever again. Lucky for me, I'll always have this picture.


DJ also is a big music fan, and her work reflects that love:






This couple is having such fun. Can't you just see it in their body language?

Dont' know the band, but I like the drummer...

Sometimes photographers capture personalities, when their mothers are hoping for more traditional shots. Often, I think these kinds of pictures turn out to be the best.