Painting-pilates

You already know I'm no fan of Christmas fuss, and I'd happily run away for the entire holiday season and amuse myself doing the stuff that pleases me: reading, walking, writing, observing nature and exploring new places.

Sometimes one must compromise, though. I live with my mother and Christmas means a lot to her. I have one sister who doesn't participate on account of her religion. I have one brother who has taken his family and sailed to another island for their Christmas vacation. That leaves me to provide the 'family' and 'celebration' in my mother's Christmas.

So, my little getaway in a far-flung beach house with a writer friend begins after the big day, as I wouldn't dream of leaving my mom alone with her turkey and Christmas tree on December 25th. And, since a big part of the excitement for her is getting the house all spruced up, I offered to give her the gift of a newly painted living, dining and kitchen area.

I bought the paint on Wednesday, and figured that I'd have it all done by Thursday night - two coats on every wall as we had decided to change the colour from coral white to shy shrimp. It's four days later and I'm still not done. The pale peachy-shrimp colour on the catalogue swatch just looks pink on the wall, but it's a pink with a peach undertone, so we're not too disappointed. It might not be the colour we envisaged but it looks quite beautiful.

And I ache. Climbing ladders, balancing a can of paint in one hand while, bent at odd angles, I apply the colour to walls, stooping, stretching, lugging, pushing and pulling heavy furniture and large appliances around - it all adds up to pains in muscles I'd forgotten existed.

I'd come out of this painting jag fitter and trimmer - if the exertion wasn't making me so hungry I devour everything in sight the minute I step off that cursed ladder.