Erasing evidence

My kids left the nest early, far earlier than I thought possible, but they left behind plenty of evidence they were once here. Many years ago, they were allowed to paint their rooms in whatever fashion they chose.

One chose black, the other chose red and blue, as the basis for a "Cleveland Indians" room. The black room was repainted last year into a lovely (in my opinion, since I did the painting) southwest "feel."

When the Cleveland Indians room kid left, I got over the loneliness of the empty nest, by embracing its newfound status as an aircraft parts hangar. That lasted about a year, until more parts went on the plane, and my wife announced it would be her new office.

So this weekend, we boxed up the remains of the room and I began patching holes. Son #2 was not wise to the ways of hanging Kenny Lofton, Omar Vizquel, and Jim Thome pennants with two sided tape. He was a fan of the hammer and nail.



Yesterday I started the process of repainting; first with a fresh white coat of paint on the ceiling.

The task ahead is bittersweet; it's like taking an eraser to 14 years.