Day 66 The Colour of Gratitude

My parents are moving to another unit within their condo complex and they’ve asked me to help them redecorate. This is kind of a big deal because, left to their own devices, they’re likely to either go with eggshell white everywhere (because it goes with everything, you know) or be wild and paint all the walls powder blue (to match the tablecloth. And the carpet. And the throw cushions.)

So, to step out of their comfort zone and ask my advice is a tremendous leap of faith – and something of a burden. After all, what do I know? I once painted our whole main floor what I thought was a trendy milk chocolate colour but turned out, in daylight, to be purple.

However, I do enjoy painting. And I love colour, vibrant and bold. My attitude is that you can always paint over it if you don’t like it. (Which actually isn’t always true, as I learned when I painted a seascape in deep (deep, dark) ocean blue in my youngest daughter’s bedroom.)

So I have to balance my opinion and style sensibility, such as it is, against their conservativism and the fact that they intend to live in this place, with these colours, for the rest of their lucid lives. If I choose badly, I’ll be reminded of it every single time I visit. Change is not their strong suit. These are people who still drink from the mismatched plastic tumblers that I remember from my childhood. “And why not?” my father responds. “They still work!”

So today Mom and I went to the paint store, thinking the decorating consultants could help us narrow the field. You know, using smart words like “contemporary” and “complementary” or “saturated hues.”

“Here’s the pillow sham from their bedroom,” I showed the girl at the counter. “And a sample of the flooring they’re installing. The windows face north, so we’re wondering if this grey-blue is too cool or should we go with more earth tones, maybe a cinnamon-rusty brown?”

I held out our short-list of possibilities – minus the powder-blue chip – and awaited her wisdom.

“Either way would work,” she said, looking like a deer in the headlights. “It’s a personal decision, your own preference.”

Not quite as helpful as I’d imagined.

“Oh-kay,” I said, not ready to give up just yet. I held up the two colours we’d come up with but weren’t sure about. “What do you think about a combination of this for the main walls and this for a feature wall? Given the warm tones in the wood floor, and the cool north light? This shade is also in the furniture.”

She glanced down. “Um. Looks good,” she said.

My mother looked at me, panicky with indecision. I took the colour chip from her hand and pointed to the second darkest colour, a lovely, deep blue-grey.

“We’ll take a sample pot of this one.”

“I don’t know,” Mom demurred, her finger hovering over the softer, lighter shade. “Can I be that brave?”

“Yes,” I said. It was a $5 sample. “Go big or go home.”

We also got a tester of a rich butter-creamy colour to contrast with the blue and give the room warmth. We decided to wait on buying paint for the cove and trim. I wasn’t up for torturing over white vs. off-white.

We tried out the colours on the walls as soon as we got back and they look good! My mom is happy, she’s pretty sure my dad will be happy, and I’m relieved Christmas dinner won’t be held in Baby Boy Doe’s bedroom.

No, more than relieved. I’m touched by their trust in me, their desire to have me engaged in their lives, and by their gratitude. It feels good to be so appreciated.

Even for something as relatively insignificant as paint.