Wednesday, November 29, 2000

By SALLIE SATTERTHWAITE
sallies@juno.com

For sale: One quart of semi-gloss paint, never opened. Color: "clay pot." Will throw in slightly used paint pad free.

Well, it wasn't the hardware guy's fault we bought too much paint. I think we told him the kitchen is 13 1/2 X 10, but probably didn't mention that one side is open to the great room while the other three are all windows, door, stove, fridge and cabinets.

This would be nearly the last step of the make-over our 16-year-old house has undergone in the year 2000. One bathroom needs to be re-papered, and we're thinking about some light fixtures over the breakfast counter, but the big updates carpet, stove, furniture are done.

Considering how little actual wall there is in the kitchen, I can't believe it took me the better part of two days to paint it. First thing I did was to disregard the advice of one of my decorating consultants, i.e. a friend whose taste I trust. My heart, usually committed to neutrals, was inexplicably set on a terra cotta color, like bleached-out clay flower pots or faded brick.

After sticking squares of colored paper here and there for weeks, then standing back and squinting in vain to see how they'd look if they covered the whole room, I finally dragged my friend in and asked her what artistic rules I needed to consider.

Even though she has splashed blatant red liberally around her house, she cautioned me that if I felt timid about going too bright, I should choose the color I like and then buy the next lighter shade, since large surfaces tend to look darker and bolder than small ones.

I ignored her, of course. The color I liked best was named "clay pot" and the next lighter one had some sissy name like "pretty sunset."

You can bet which I chose.

One adviser thought I could leave up the old beige faux-grass cloth in order to have a little texture, but another said, No, it would not "take" paint well and would peel besides. Take it off, he said, then spackle and sand to get a smooth surface.

Groan. That sounded like work. But he spoke with the authority of experience, so I decided to take on the added task of stripping wallpaper as well.

I bought the paint two quarts and a little padded dealie that rolls paint under the ceiling and along window frames. A bonus of aging is knowing oneself. I knew I'd hate this job if I forced myself to do it, but if I left the paint on the counter and just worked around it, the day would come when I'd be eager to do it. And it did.

I thought I had an event to cover Nov. 4. But when I discovered that my mental calendar was a week off, I was suddenly blessed with the greatest gift the gods can bestow: a "found" day, a whole day unexpectedly open to other possibilities.

Started right after breakfast, figured it would take until lunch time. Yeah, right.

The fine print and TV commercials would have you believe that painting a room is painting a room. In real life, painting a room, especially a kitchen, is taking down stuff, scrubbing off that sticky goop that collects in kitchens, undoing outlet plates, yanking off paper, spackling gaps and nail holes, sanding, spreading newspaper over counters loaded with the aforementioned stuff.

There may have been only 100 or so square feet of wall to paint, but there were at least 100 items baskets, wooden salad bowls, tile plaques, pottery, a spice rack, glass jars full of beans and pasta that had to be moved out of the way before anything like painting could begin.

At about the time the clutter was impenetrable and the sanding underway, Dave got hungry. Cooking, yea, finding food and dishes, was out of the question. Crisis averted by a quick trip to the Italian Oven.

Back to work, and it became apparent that we would also have breakfast out next morning. Looking back now, I can barely remember when I actually painted. I don't think it took 20 minutes. That six-inch wide paint pad and an inch-wide brush did it all, and the latex dried so fast that re-sanding rough places and touching up skips could be done at once.

Moreover, it required only about half of one quart-sized can of paint.

In order to check the surface by day light, I waited until after church next day before I selected, washed and replaced the accessories I wanted to keep. By the time the bread baskets were back up and the pottery sorted in favor of whites and cobalt blue, I was beginning to see what I had wrought.

And I liked it. "Clay pot" is admittedly a bit more in-your-face than this timid lover of neutrals usually prefers, but there's so little of it and the almond cabinet doors and counter tops balance it off just fine.

You can bet wimpy "pink petunia" wouldn't have looked this warm and welcoming.

Now anybody want a quart of "clay pot"? You can even come see how it's going to look.

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