Duchess Jane

I promised photos of my purple bathroom, and even though it isn't done, I need to follow through with that or I'll forget. The doors aren't completely finished and the trim isn't done, but the color is definitely the focus anyway. It looks lighter in photos than real life, probably because of the flash.

Duke doesn't realize this, but painting any room purple to please me, without my input, was probably the most dangerous thing he could have done. It all goes back to about 1985 or so, when my mother told me she was painting my bedroom and asked me what color I would prefer. I immediately answered "purple" with several hundred exclamation points and probably a cartwheel across the room. I was a big fan of purple in those days.

The color that Mom chose was lavender at best. Really, you pretty much had to hold a sheet of white paper against the wall to see that it wasn't just plain white. I was devastated. Now that I'm older I realize that Mom didn't have a lot of choices - my bedroom was the size of a closet, with a peaked ceiling that was maybe two feet off the floor at the ends of the room. It was a terribly small space though I thought it was the perfect bedroom for me at that age. Mom tried to make the color problem better. She bought me curtains and a bedding set that were purple with unicorns on it. If there was one thing I loved more than purple, it was unicorns, so I can only imagine how far she had to search for this fabric.

But I never really forgot the injustice of my purple bedroom. For the rest of my life, every time Mom would refer to the time she painted my bedroom purple, I would shout "THAT WASN'T PURPLE IT WAS WHITE". I even added the story to my monologue about what a bad mother I have. It fit in really nicely between the time she slammed my head in the car door and the time she dragged me through a snow bank on Main Street while I was trying to tell her I'd lost my snow boot. The whole act ends with the story of the Smurfette Cake, where Mom tried her hand at Wilson cake molds and cake decorating, and my first question of her was "Mommy, why is Smurfette crying?"

That's the thing about us middle-class, midwestern, two-parent family, educated, suburban little girls: We have to be traumatized by something and there aren't a lot of choices. My personal cross to bear was a bedroom that was purple, but not purple enough. It explains a lot about me, doesn't it?

On the Old North Bridge, where the Minutemen first fired on the forefathers of the Hairy Pretzel:

At the Lexington Battle Green:

Also in Lexington, with the tour guide who asked Jane what part of Minnesota she's from:

At Walden Pond:

Enjoying a brew in Southie:

Looking into the harbor:

Crossing the finish line for the Boston Marathon:

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UPDATE: Apparently I'm a total dope and didn't realize this is one of those shows that is on EVERY NIGHT OF THE WEEK I THINK. So anyway. Helio is dancing tonight. I'll be in the chat room.

Do NOT even dare argue with me.

I promise, I have a really super long post coming soon about my trip to Boston, but in the meantime, let this little story warm your heart:

Right before I left for Boston last week, Duke and I walked through a few of the houses in the Rockford Home Builder's Association's "Parade of Homes". One of them was a super energy efficient house and then there were two others that were built by one of my favorite home builders.

One of the houses had a bright bold purple bathroom. The walls were the most wonderful shade of purple I've ever seen, and I commented to Duke that "This is the color I want to paint our bathroom!" I said it and then I immediately forgot about it, because our bathroom project was pretty low on the priority list.

So I went to Boston and on one of my check-in phone calls with Duke, he mentioned that when he picked me up from O'Hare, we were going immediately to IKEA to pick out a new bathroom vanity/mirror thingy because he broke ours. When I hung up the phone, I remarked to several of my friends that he probably "broke it" while tearing down a wall or smashing things with his hammer. Never once did I connect it to the purple paint issue.

Even when he stood in the bathroom section at IKEA debating about matching woodwork colors, I didn't think "Gee, there's NO WOODWORK IN OUR BATHROOM." I just figured that as always, he has some sort of big plan in his head that I can't see because it's still in his head.

So we got home, and MY BATHROOM IS PURPLE. It's a bit of a mess, but it's purple!!! The doors are downstairs getting stripped and sanded and stuff. There is nothing on the walls anymore. And the walls are PURPLE.

Let's review: Duke paid attention when I said "I like that color". He drove me to the airport. He went home and stripped a million years of old paint off the walls and did some sort of sealing thing to the plaster and then primed it and then found the exact color I mentioned two weeks ago and he painted it. He did all of this while I was gone so that I wouldn't be deprived of my shower. Then he picked me up at the airport.

He is the best. Ever. EV-ER.

I'll post a photo later. I promise.