Now before you say what we’re all thinking, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
So just bear with me . . .
I think I’ve mentioned before that we, Mom, Sally and me—oh,
and Mort—all live in Sally’s house.
The one she bought with the money she got when she did the
movie Nosedive just before Covid hit.
You have to know that some actors are really well paid.
Ahem . . .
Well, even though it is technically Sally’s house, Mom looks
after its care and upkeep.
Because . . . Sally.
Am I right?
So Mom decided that said house was due for a fresh coat of
paint on its ‘painty’ areas. All those not covered in stone.
Now Sally could have easily paid to have some professionals
come and do the job in half the time and a quarter of the effort, but that’s
not how Mom works. She’s all about creating
opportunities for us to learn and grow through hard work and perseverance.
Or something like that.
So Saturday morning found Mort, Peter and me—brushes in hand—swiping an oily coat of primer
onto freshly scraped walls.
Mom was just ahead of us, doing the scraping.
Sally was lounging on a lawn chair twenty feet away. Supervising.
In an effort to reassure
Peter and I and to ensure herself of
our help, it was the only job Mom could allow Sally.
So far it was working.
Work was progressing.
Scraping was happening.
Paint was being applied.
All was well.
You, who know Sally, also know that this is the place where
things usually get . . . erm . . . sticky.
Mom finished with the wall before us, then disappeared
around the side of the house. A moment later, she reappeared carrying the
large, wooden ladder.
The one tall enough to reach the second story.
Keep breathing . . .
Moving said ladder back to the corner, to a place just above
where we had all started, Mom clambered up it like a monkey and again started
scraping.
Mort, Peter and I kept on painting, moving forward steadily.
Just then, a car pulled into our driveway.
Now you have to know that due to—I’m going to go with ‘Covid’
but it could just as easily be ‘Sally’— we don’t get many visitors.
Intentional ones, that is.
This was cause for all of us to turn for a look.
Mom, came down from the ladder and stood there a moment,
squinting into the sun and wiping her hands.
Sally got up from her chair and hurried toward the ladder. “I’ll
give it a try, Mom, so the painters don’t have to stop.”
“It’s okay, Hon,” Mom said absently, her concentration on
the person climbing from the car.
I guess none of us really noticed when Sally, instead of
taking the scraper Mom had been using, nabbed Mort’s paint can and a new brush
and scurried up the ladder.
A man was coming toward us, a broad smile on his handsome
face, the sun glinting from his ‘just-a-little-gray’ hair.
A man who looked remarkably like Peter.
I looked at Peter, who was sporting a wide grin and an
extended hand. “Uncle Pete! When did you get back?”
The man ignored Peter’s hand and, instead wrapped him in a
great bear hug. “It’s a surprise, Favourite Nephew!” he said. He stepped back. “I
just got home last night.”
Peter laughed and looked around at all of us. “Everyone!
This is my Uncle Peter, or Pete to the family. I was named after him. He was just
pulled out of Afghanistan.”
Uncle Pete looked around at all of us, finally settling on
Mom. Moving toward her, he held out his hand. “Peter Gunn,” he said. “No
relation to the private eye.”
Mom laughed self-consciously. Her cheeks went pink. “Oooh!”
she said, taking his hand. “I’m . . .”
But that’s as far as she got.
Sally. Ladder. Paint.
You know it had to happen. And it took . . . seconds.
“Oops! Look out below!”
Mom and Uncle Pete were suddenly drenched in a fresh coat of
primer.
Head to toes.
Side to side.
Remember when I said things were about to get ‘sticky’? I
was right.
Just as a side note, Mom had asked for the paint with the
best coverage.
She got it.
Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.
At the end of this post you’ll find links to the other blogs featuring this challenge. Check them all out, see what words they got and how they used them.
They were submitted by my good friend Jenniy at https://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com
Are you up for more fun?
Baking In A Tornado
Wandering Web Designer
Climaxed
What TF Sarah
Part-time Working Hockey Mom
It's Mom's fault, as soon as Sally went near that ladder Mom should have known to either stop her, or move away. Far, far away!!
ReplyDeleteOh my God! I have to say, your mother is amazing for her age. She's not only a great ladder climber, but a good sport! Love the Sally stories.
ReplyDeleteThe best coverage, hahahaha! For once I anticipated the outcome as soon as Sally got to the ladder ;-)
ReplyDeleteLife is never dull with Sally around. Never, ever dull.
ReplyDeleteMom's on ladders is a scary thought. But Sally sounds like a real character.
ReplyDeleteWell, at least now the disaster is done, so they can do the rest of the painting in peace. At least, i hope that's how it works, one disaster per project.
ReplyDeleteI'm starting to think I need a Sally in my life! lol
ReplyDeleteSounds like my husband painting. He's awful at it, I mean REALLY awful at it!
ReplyDelete