Ceiling Done 


Jim reflects on ceilings and callings. 

I don't know where I am getting all this energy! Or yes, maybe I do, enough to make a good blog entry. The picture to the right shows the ceiling project when it was half done a couple of days ago. Never mind that the top of the picture looks blue. Whaddaya expect from a pre 3G iPhone anyway? The ceiling is now painted flat ceiling white, and probably I have violated some green standard, cause I just bought Baer latex paint from Home Depot. (It's close, I saved more gas than if I drove to Lowe's or god forbid to Porters in Clayton.)

Readers of this blog probably know I have struggled with misdiagnosed emphysema in the past, and am currently doing quite well just past my 70th birthday. Nevertheless, this was a big deal: deciding to tough it out and repair and paint the ceiling and walls of this newly-to-be-carpeted-and-draped rec room. But I spent all my money on the carpet and drapes, so it was do the work myself or live with new carpet and dirty walls.

Monday I went to Home Depot and bought stuff I didn't already have, masking tape, a drop cloth, a paint roller (had the extra heavy insert already, where WAS that old roller!), and of course the paint. I also thought I would try out a device that holds a flat sponge which swivels on the end of a pole, how can you miss at $6.00. Tuesday morning bright and early, I got up, moved the furniture myself, spread the drop cloth, taped newspaper on things that would get paint on them (notice in the photo, how I taped the fan). I decided to shoot for doing half the ceiling each day.

I got out my fancy new sponge and started to edge the ceiling on the half of the room I was intending to paint. Did I mention that this was the world's roughest ceiling, obviously an almost-botched job left from a previous home improvement owner dude? (It was a dude; I checked with the neighbors.) The gadget I bought may work better on a smooth ceiling or on the top of a wall (although it seemed very drippy to me), but it was a disaster used on very rough plaster. So, I dug out a 3" paint brush, climbed up on the 3rd and 4th steps of my 6-foot stepladder, and the edging was done before lunch.

After lunch, I put the plastic liner in the roller pan, poured the paint into it, loaded up the rather heavy when loaded roller, and heaved it up to the ceiling. As it turns out, the technique required was to first pass the roller over a couple of parallel 3 foot tracks and then go back over it really pressing down until all the little crevices are filled. Well, I worked at this for about 10 minutes, and I had to climb down off of the ladder. My heart was pounding and I felt kind of breath-stressed, which isn't exactly the same thing as being short of breath. At that moment I asked myself a difficult question: "Am I going to have to give up on this and pay someone to do it for me?"

Ah, but the plot thickens: we must 'fess up to dark and brooding hidden issues in the background. (Are you breathing hard yet?) My 95 year old mother is lying in the nursing home with a broken hip and trying to go through rehab. I have called her regularly to try to show her my love and support. And EVERY TIME I have, I have had to listen to her thinly veiled worries and prayers over my certain entry into hell if I don't turn my back on my homosexuality. This could be a really long story, but I don't need to vent about this. In fact, I've got it pretty well sorted out. But the fact is, that this has been weighing heavily on me. It's not that I have any doubt about the fate of my immortal soul. Read back issues of this blog to find out why if you are interested. It's rather, how to handle this stuff when it comes up. I have, of course, resolved to not make an issue of it. But still what does one do? Change the subject, tell her not to worry, tell her my rector reassures me it's ok? I've tried all these things. And then of course, I wonder maybe I shouldn't call so often. I even asked her how often she wanted me to call. "Not every day." My love for mom is not an issue here, and the time for dialog with her appears to be long past, although I have sincerely tried since 1973.

Now we are back in the rec room, spent paint roller dangling from our hand, fretting that perhaps we cannot paint the ceiling as planned. And suddenly, a miracle happens. From somewhere deep inside me, out comes a really strong, "I love you, Jim." And then another, "I really love you, Jim." I repeat the message several times, slowly, savoring the feeling of being loved and nurtured. But as I say these things, I feel stronger and stronger. I stand up straight. I smile. My struggling heart takes heart and begins to beat to this different drum. I didn't think about it deeply then, and I am only just surmising now, that these continued and, in fact, even hateful rejections of our persons by those we love deeply damages us homosexual people. It hurts to have your mother say to your life partner in front of him that she always thought you would marry a woman, and name that woman in apparent oblivion to his feelings.

I said to myself, I think I can get back up on that ladder, and I can go slowly. I think I can find the right speed to do this, and I CAN PAINT THIS CEILING. And that is just what I did. I found my own speed, and a whole lot more. I can't help it if my failing, feeble mother's very conditional love now surfaces more and more clearly. I can even understand and forgive her for what, given time and situation, she really didn't intend to do to me at all. And I can understand that she and the radio and TV evangelists that she so loved to listen to have led her down a path of no return into what must amount to a little living hell for her. But clearly, I had very little part in creating the last 35 years or so of that experience for her. I must in the end be strong, love myself AND her, and embrace my God-blessed life here with my partner of 20 some years.

Yeah, I'm getting back up on the ladder on Friday, right after the carpet has been laid, and I am going to paint those walls. Maybe I'll take a break about noon and call mom; see how she is doing.


 

Posted: Tue - January 6, 2009 at 04:57 PM          

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