Color Theory
They read like a nursery’s inventory, that list of wood stains
… evergreen, hedge row, red cedar, balsam pine … but imagining their one-inch
square color swatches onto my deck furniture was like translating
Serbo-Croatian poetry into lilting English. I finally settled on one. Figured
I’d learn to like it.
So racing through a brief window of good summer weather just
before vacation, I power washed and prepped in hopes of staining everything
before getting out of town. Ten weeks afterward, I was still staining and
scrounging for some meaning. Where cars once parked months ago, our driveway
now looked like Sanford and Son’s as furniture, tarps, and paint stuff junked the
space, and my interest in responsibly protecting that wooden furniture from the
elements lay among the debris.
Turned out I didn’t learn to like what colors I chose. Then
vacation, rain, obligations, more color experiments, and more rain kept testing
my patience. Seasons changed as everything kept me from finally crossing “stain
furniture” off my to-do list. With each new can of stain, I’d prepare to paint,
optimistic that I finally had picked the right color that would get me back on
the deck lounging under the last of summer’s sun. Nope, time after time a single
brush stroke revealed bewildering hues. Defeated and dejected, I repeatedly closed
the lid on progress.
Until with a blown budget and the fourth choice of stain
came balsam pine. And it was like a mossy forest glen. Yessss!
Like Michelangelo finding a ceiling, I began a masterwork. Alone for hours with
this color, I stroked personality onto our mottled brown and weathered wooden
furniture. The shade had a calming effect, like lavender oil’s aroma,
surrounding me with a sense of stillness even as my stroking rhythms increased.
A tiny balsam pine furniture forest sprouted around me. Weeks of trial and
error had given way, and I was pleased.
Chemistry
is fickle. As the bench and picnic table dried beneath two coats, the chameleon-like
balsam pine morphed to something brash and ugly against the dark-stained deck.
I pouted for days—and moved the finished table back to the driveway where it sat abandoned amidst the remaining
incomplete pieces.
Time passed, I lightened up a bit, and we moved the picnic
table back onto the deck. Relieved to have her napping den returned, our golden
retriever crawled on under. Her deep rusty color looked warm and soft against
the backdrop of balsam pine—much like fallen needles blanketing a pine
forest’s floor. I smiled.
I tried my potted plants back on and around the table. Hmmmm … uh-huh … the greens, bright chrysanthemums blooms, all
accented the pine forest palette. Character, that’s what grew from the
furniture as we woke to it in the morning’s haze, lunched on it, and as I
worked there in the afternoon’s golden autumn sun. I imagined whicker chairs
around the table to break the green and substitute comfort in place of the hard
wooden benches. And then I thought of a balsam bench in the garden or along our
trail in the woods for quiet contemplation. Balsam pine was growing on me,
along with a foolish regret over letting the project’s fits and starts mute my
progress.
Remember that ol’ project management
maxim: if a plan is just barely possible at the outset, it’s not a reasonable
plan? A short time frame and unrealistic expectations of tackling a big project
while packing and preparing to get out of town set me up for failure. It foiled
my naive two-step strategy of 1) pick a color and 2) paint quickly. The best
plans must be—wait for it—planned. They must be nimble, and their
leaders must be able to recognize when to let go in order to gain a greater
unforeseen good.
Life’s lessons come in packages large and small, wrapped in
many colors. It turns out green is the feng shui hue of renewal and new beginnings. Now Indian summer
gives way to chilly autumn air, leaves fall brown to the ground, and we count
our blessings around the Thanksgiving table. I’m renewed to reflect on the
blessing of having a botched paint project to be the worst of my problems. What
was a nagging disappointment has faded into an understanding of one of life’s important
lessons—one that resonates increasingly with each morning’s news. Each time
I see that bright balsam pine green, I’m reminded that it’s not so much the
problems we face that matter, but rather, it’s how we cope that counts.
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