This is the story of my house color. About eight years ago, I purchased a bungalow built in 1921. After awhile, I needed to admit that it needed a new coat of paint. Something different than the shades of gray that were fast fading away. Walking in the mountains with a new friend, I saw stones accessorized with lichen that was a pale green with a hint of blue. That, I thought, would be the perfect color for my house.
Later, my neighbor Kim stopped by with her suitcase of paint chips (she does interior decorating) and we found a chip (named gentle green) that looked like my lichen, and a darker green for the trim, and I chose a bright, bright turquoise green for my front door.
Then I found a fabulous painter named Harold who did a meticulous job for a reasonable price. He favored painting things white. When he first tried the lichen green, he had strong reservations (as, to be honest, did I). It looked pretty damned bright. He said he’d seen worse. He also said that it was a late 1960s, early 1970s color that was usually used on interiors not, heaven-forefend, on exteriors. He also said it was the color of vintage Thunderbird convertibles.
So we dubbed the color Thunderbird Green. Amazingly, the more of the house that was covered, the better it looked. And then with the trim and the bright front door, it was perfect – Thunderbird Green and all.
To my dismay, I learned that soon after suffering the indignity of painting things green instead of white, Harold retired, never to paint again. I need to believe that he was going to retire anyway and that he is happy. Wherever he is, I thank him for a fine job and great, great tolerance. And a great, great green house.
Monday, September 27, 2010
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