Thank you Homeowner’s Association…not for the letter about the fishing gear in the driveway, nor the letter about the cleaning that you believed my house needed, nor the letter about the garbage can that was in the driveway for longer than some unstated rule allows, nor the letter about the need to weed my rose garden. Thank you, but not for any of that…instead, thank you for the letter telling me that I had to paint the house. It—the painting, not the letter—has provided me a chance to sweat, relax, enjoy country music and think in a relaxed way unlike I have had in a long time. A very long time.
Painting in a Huckleberry Finn sort of way, with a bucket of paint and a four-inch wide brush has given me a project where day-by-day I can witness my progress. I can see what I am doing well, and I can see the places that have not met my personally set standards, and I can correct my errors along the way or safe them for another day. I listen to a lot of great songs—stories set to lyrics—and sing to a few if I see fit. There is no one else helping, so I don’t have to worry about conversations when I don’t want them, or snide comments about my musical choices and/or singing capabilities. If I want a complaint, I can simply wait for another HOA letter. Meanwhile, the effort, the process, and the mental quiet time are rewarding.
This is so good, maybe I will take so long on the painting project that the HOA will write me another letter.