The Color of Money

Above is another picture of Denali. Big mountain, somewhat elusive to get the right picture, but this was the one that I've been working to get. Now I can stop chartering 747's to fly around the mountain in my quest for a good picture. Anyhow, click on it for the larger version.

As I flew over the mountain range, you could see smoke to the north, smoke to the south. Forest fires were burning on both sides, and the smoke was everywhere. It actually rolled in like a cloud, and then it rolled on out again. Today it's beautiful, sunny, and clear, and there are no end to the activities that we can do.

Most of them are construction related. I have been known to have many a few beers when doing the construction around the house - that might explain the drywall in some spots. I do have a rule, though, beer and chainsaws don't mix. I really don't want to be known as "Lefty."

As near as I can tell, almost everyone up here is a do-it-yourselfer. That would explain the tangled plastic tubing mess that is the water supply in the house, and the unusual choices made for lighting and wiring, and the inordinately large emergency room at Fairbanks Memorial. I won't explain how I know that, let's just say that several months ago I determined I have an acute allergy to stainless steel embedded in my finger. Enough said.

So, The Home Despot and Lowe's are my constant companions up here. The Boy knows where items are there, and even (at four) makes good suggestions on what we need to buy. For example, last week he said, "We need plywood."

I started thinking. We do need a sheet of plywood. If he hadn't mentioned it, I'd have had to make another trip into town to get it. How did he know? I hadn't mentioned it (really it had been only a passing thought), and never buy it. Scary little guy.

Occasionally, you'll luck out and get a bargain. The former owners of our house had decorated the master bedroom with leafy stamps. Some folks might like it, but for The Mrs. and I it's the visual equivalent of dragging fingers across a chalk board. So, sometime this winter, we'll paint over that monstrosity. We had a color picked out, but opportunity struck. The lady in front of us (we were getting exterior paint) got some paint, but the paint they made for her, despite being of the right color and really good quality, wasn't Laura Ashley paint. A thought struck me. There are four gallons of this stuff, which would go a long way to painting our upstairs. I looked at it, and thought it might work. I wandered over to The Mrs. (who was hanging over by the brushes with The Boy and The New Boy.

Me: "There's four gallons of paint they just messed up on. Interested?"
The Mrs.: "For what?"
Me: "Upstairs, our bedroom."
The Mrs.: "What color?"
Me: "Taupe."

Now, it's here that The Mrs. shows the wisdom that I married her for:

The Mrs.: "And just what color do you think taupe is?"

I am unmasked. I have no idea what color taupe is. I go, pick out a sample, show The Mrs., and she agrees that this color would look good upstairs.

I read once that there's a gene that's present about one in ten red-haired women with Irish blood that allows them to see some extra color that nobody else can see. I think The Mrs. has that, since she continually sees color differences I don't, and I'm not color-blind.

Anyhow, I still don't know what taupe is, though we did purchase four gallons of a paint that may or may not be taupe for $20 (that's like $700 Canadian). Or maybe it's mauve. I may not be color-blind, but I'm certainly color-ignorant. And, I'm okay with that.