A week later than
planned, demolition of the kitchen is scheduled for Monday. That puts me in decision-making
mode. We need to choose light and plumbing fixtures. We need to pick out tile
for the entryway. We need to decide whether or not to buy new appliances. And I
need to choose a wall color. Did you notice the shift in pronouns at the end of
that list? I’m not complaining, just noting that the choice of color falls to
me. Truthfully, I want it. I finally shared the color decision last year when I
gave in to the girls to help them deal with the idea of changing the color of
the house – and have regretted it. I don’t love the color of our house. I don’t
hate it, but I don’t love it. And it’s hard not to be annoyed with them for
that. It was my choice, I can’t blame them, but hey, I’m human, and sometimes I
do.
Choice can be
stressful. Here’s how I approach it. I delve deep into the endless field of
choices, wade through, pushing some aside, collecting others for careful
consideration, then I see one thing and forget all of my rational sorting and
go with it.
Here is the
field, provided by Benjamin Moore. I quickly pushed aside all the blues and
reds and browns; weighed the benefits of a neutral gray and then grabbed a
bright yellow-orange card. I kept looking, but that card stayed in my hand.
I’ve gone through the pretext of a sample pint, which I have dutifully swatched
on the wall, with an alternate, softer tone for comparison. Cute. My choice was
made as soon as the paint card leapt out at me.
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