It was time to get the house painted. The paint had cracked, chipped and splintered like peanut brittle. The southern sun had baked swirls in it like far-off mountain ranges.
I couldn’t remember the last time it was painted. Who can? It seemed like yesterday but yesterday was probably 3,000 yesterdays ago.
The outside looked like one of those abandoned houses you see off the road in the middle of a field. Someone had lived there once, but they were long gone.
We chase paint. We never catch up. We’re always one paint job and a thousand yesterdays from the house looking smart.
A friend at coffee recommended his painter. He ranted and raved about him. He was foaming at the mouth like the top of the mocha I was drinking.
Brett came over a few days later. He wore a mask. I did, too. We looked like a couple of painting bandits.
I climbed on my high horse and asked if he understood the challenges of painting an old house. I wasn't trying to get into his business, or tell him how to do his business, I just wanted him to know he was dealing with an old house and an amber wave of paint.
“I live in Oleander,” he said. “I know all about old houses.”
There were nothing but old houses in Oleander. Even the new houses are old. We lived there 30 years ago and they were old then. Thirty years later, nobody has gotten any younger.
We walked around to the back of the house. The side that faced north. The side nobody would ever see.
“Do you want a Hollywood paint job on both sides?” he asked.
Good question. We only had so much money and Brett only had so much time. When we ran out of money, he ran out of time.
I wanted Hollywood out front, where everybody could see it. The side we saw when we walked through the front door. The side that can thrill or crush.
Look at it like a movie set for a western. The saloon, jail and house of ill repute look real in front. From the rear, it’s all jack rabbits, bee balm and the wind whistling through the prairie.
The north side was all about coverage. Make it look good, make it last but nobody would be using it as a backdrop for wedding photos unless they wanted a cord of olive in it.
A week later, Brett sent the bid, which included:
• Cover all walkways.
• Pressure-wash entire house.
• Scrape, patch, sand, caulk and prime all exterior house and trim.
• Paint two-coat finish.
• Prime all bare wood.
• Prep windows.
• Re-glaze windows.
• Prime and paint two-coat finish.
• Paint all exterior doors.
• Cleanup and touch-ups as necessary.
It also included a total for labor and materials and a senior discount.
Wait a minute. Did I read that correctly? Senior discount?
Senior discount. Was he calling me old? Brett was busy. Maybe we’d gotten a bid meant for somebody else.
I checked the address and the name on top of the bid. It looked right. Right or as right as a couple of seniors could look.
The discount was healthy. That’s bonus-healthy. It wasn’t inheritance-healthy, but it was a plane ticket across the ocean and a hot breakfast to boot.
I laughed. I think I laughed. Maybe I should have laughed.
No one is complaining. We’re grateful for the senior citizen discount at the movies. Medicare is fabulous.
However, this was my first senior paint discount.
I texted his wife.
“Thanks for the fair estimate, but I have one question: Do we look that bad?”
She said no; I think she said no. If she didn’t say no, she couched it with the winking eye emoji.
“We just wanted to make it more affordable,” she said.
You did. You broke my heart, shattered my dreams and punctured my illusions, but it’s affordable. Like the house, we could probably use a fresh coat too. A fresh coat over some good old bones.
November 29, 2020 at 08:00PM
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HERB BENHAM: A fresh coat will benefit everyone - The Bakersfield Californian
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Herb
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