The things we do for love

What could have gone wrong?

As a result of some horrifically unwise decisions to follow trends when I was younger (ask me about my time as an "Urban Cowboy" devotee - better yet, don't, please don't), I've not been an  'early adopter' of all things trendy, if I adopt them at all. For instance, I've been slow to jump on the #TBT train on the interwebs. If you are more in the dark than I and don't know what that is, be not ashamed and let me clue you in. #TBT, shorthand for Throw Back Thursday, is a hashtag assigned to a photo from your past that you post on a Thursday somewhere, mostly the Instagrams or maybe on the Facebook. The more awkward the photo the better it seems.

Like I said, I've been slow on the uptake on this one and I finally posted my first official #TBT picture yesterday, which was, in fact, a Thursday. It's the photo featured on today's post. How does this picture qualify as 'throw back' and what on earth, you ask, does it have to do with the title of this post? Well, let me tell you.

This picture was taken about 15 years ago in our home in Temecula, CA. Said house was some kind of Spanish-style gem (we loved that house) that dot Southern California's myriad planned communities. Our planned community was no different and the fascist HOA dictated what the house looked like on the outside but had no say on what we did inside. Our home had very high ceilings and had this ridiculous 'bell tower' feature. PS - there was no bell up there. The only thing up there was one of those little sticky hands that you get in a bubble gum machine. You get one guess as to how it got up there. If you guess anything other than the Boy when he was four years old, you would be wrong.

It is that bell tower that I'm painting. The picture is an answer to the age-old question "Why do women live longer than men?" Because a woman would never take a 24 foot ladder, wearing weird apostolic sandals and surgical gloves (safety first!) and hang off it to paint in a way that is sure to end in disaster. But a man, yes, without a second thought, scrambles up the ladder and goes to work. This photo only captures phase one as I ascended higher to get that whole thing painted. And paint it I did. I was proud of my efforts. It wasn't until later that I realized I should have been proud of the fact that I didn't lose a limb.

So why'd I do it? Because it's one the things we do for love. If you are suddenly humming along to the somewhat dire 70's song of the same name from the British band 10cc, sorry, not sorry. You do things to make the person you love happy. I climbed that ladder because I wanted to paint that tower for my wife, the woman I love. She had a vision for that home. Who was I to say no? Now said woman I love, the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML, warned me that the way I positioned myself on the ladder was, perhaps, not the wisest (and by that, I'm pretty certain she met borderline dangerous and clearly foolhardy). She even offered to hold the ladder. I rejected the offer in much the same way I would reject a request to stop and ask for directions (again, more proof why women live longer than man). Because that's what men do. Grr....

There would be more walls to paint, in the name of love, in the ensuing years. I'm delighted to report that none required the ladder gymnastics of the Temecula house. But I'd do it all again. Why? Simple. It's the things we do for love. Speaking of which...