Painting.

I have a weird appreciation for it.

In high school, my folks painted their house. I’m boring and like millennial grey. But they wanted color and their house, their rules. I got to watch painter-aunty come in, tell us where to move the furniture. And see just how long it took for her to do the job.

Last year I had to paint a deck after demolishing and rebuilding it.

And my brain then jumped to another painting project. It was when I still defense contracted and was volunteering at Casa Marianella. The office admin organized monthly volunteering opportunities for the service-members, and was always looking for new ones.

So I chatted with the team during one of evenings when I was sorting mail. Other than organizing envelopes because the room was cramped enough as it is, where do they need help that’ll benefit from volume? They said they weren’t sure yet, but give them some time and they’ll let me know.

And a couple weeks of emails, instant messages, and IRL chats later. We had the folks getting the tour of Casa, learning its history, and meeting the residents. The joys of hammering out the specifics, how many people are expected? What weekends are open? What times work? Is anyone allergic to paint?

And after that painting.

Specifically the exterior walls of the main house, and the picnic tables outside in the community space.

Interesting irony, but hey, that’s what makes this country so fascinating.