Framing a Life by Roberta S. Kuriloff

Author:Roberta S. Kuriloff
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: She Writes Press

Chapter 29

Nesting

The saying is true, time does fly when you’re having fun. Well, for me, it was true that time was flying but not necessarily true about having fun. I worked at the university and studied to retake the bar. The fun, or maybe joy, came from humanizing my home, making it reflect me.

Women to the rescue! My repeated complaints about insulation dust and my bloody nose reached the ears of friends. I hired a team of women painters who arrived to transform my bare walls. It was a rough couple of days to have my calmness and organization invaded, but I couldn’t have been happier. I asked them if it was difficult for women painters to compete in a man’s world, especially in Maine. The head of the team, thin and tall with long hair in a ponytail, nodded. “We’ve been doing this now for a number of years. At first we struggled with Mainers not taking us seriously. But over time we proved ourselves after neighbors of clients saw our work and our neatness in contrast to male painters, and we got more referrals.” My bonus? The job was less costly than it would have been in New Haven!

As the painters worked, I envisioned a house coming alive with artwork on the newly tinted walls: my copy of Picasso’s Dove Peace Woman hanging across from the couch and my favorite Picasso, Mother and Child, in a place where I could see it from my bed. I pulled out a few original pieces from cousins and friends and some of my doodle art that I had framed and saved. I laid them out on the floor, creating a visual plan for each wall, particularly for the large wall adjacent to the steps, which is strikingly visible when one walks into the house. In one weekend, a feeling of home settled in. Much work was still ahead, but now I had the warmth of beloved art surrounding me.

I was ready for an inaugural house party. I invited ten friends to join me to celebrate my first New Year’s Eve in Maine. Most dressed casually, not like a celebratory night. We played games and drank wine. Scrabble. Cards. Monopoly. The games were not the center of attention. Instead, it was the easy laughter of friends sharing stories and raising a glass, particularly laughter about my bug protection outfits. Oh, how I had missed having a party in my own home, remembering all the parties Mary Ann and I had, dancing the night away, all of us dressed up in silly, sometimes outrageous, clothing. To my disappointment, my first Maine party ended all too soon. I pleaded, “Aren’t we going to dance—at least a little?”

Heads shook. A few said, “I don’t like driving home too late in winter, and I have to get ready for work.” I discovered time is different in Maine than in the city. My guests went home before the witching hour of midnight, leaving me alone. I cleaned

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