Yesterday, I applied 3-4 coats (depending on the spot) of paint to cover it all up. The last stroke at the top of the Northeast wall that covered up the blue made me incredibly sad. My wife was interested in painting the room. I was [and am] bitter and sad and mad that we almost had to move because the building’s increasingly poor management and maintenance; so I almost took her up on it. All that work, and Charlotte won’t even remember those deep blue walls. Painting over it depressed me. But, frankly, I’m a faster painter, and we needed to just get it finished. So I did all the painting.

It’s sad, to me, that we had to abandon the first place that Charlotte ever called home before she would ever remember it.  Sweeping our bedroom yesterday, I realized that I was standing where Charlotte’s crib stood until she was 6 months old.  The first night away from the hospital and the army of nurses.  The first night in her own PJs, having a real bath, in her own crib, in our home.  The first place she ever slept at night because it was nighttime or slept through the night (though the latter is really still a rarity; she has a small stomach but a hunger for playing and exploring).

Now it’s not home anymore.  There are just a few piles of crap and our bikes there.  After Thursday, we have no claim at all on it.

Hell, it’s probably the room where Charlotte was conceived, though, for the sake of family folklore, that — ahem — happened after a Tori Amos concert in Washington.

Who knows if Charlotte will remember our current apartment?  It’s much larger, though, and she usually forgoes her toys in favor of running around.

Along with the small spending limit for gifts, we thought we’d have fun with V-Day this year with the help of homemade cards. I pulled out the Moleskine watercolor book a friend sent me a year ago and a watercolor set I got for Christmas in 2004 and set to sketching. What I wound up using for the card was a roughly-brushed heart and wash deal that I almost tossed. This is the corner of a bad little woods and sky sketch that my wife stole and took to work, only to return it when I had a hissy fit. A total hissy fit. I don’t think I can paint like I used to be able to.

I was, however, happy with the Moleskine watercolor paper. The original sketch books just let the water run and never soaked anything up, at least in my experience. Which is not to say that I don’t like that paper for making cartoons about funny things I read about and people I don’t like. The color and texture of the Moleskine watercolor paper are both just right for some quick dabblings. The pages are cut at the edges for removal, too.

Especially considered the sketch/notes nature of Moleskines, it was nice to have paper so welcoming to the watercolor. Regular Moleskines don’t take thick inks very well, but I always assumed this was because of their origin as notebooks, where ballpoint ink or pencil makes the most sense, on the go, in a pocket, waiting for a train or a lover.

Photo Friday: Art.