I haven't felt this way since those first few batches of fudge, caramel and brittles; working through those first million exposures at the North Carolina State Archives; taking that first call from a disgruntled guest.
They've started a new practice in home building. Textured walls. Yeah, I've been aware of the textured ceiling variations for decades. I always figured it was a way to hide difficulties in workmanship. I figure the same with textured walls... At least the joints between wallboard sections aren't apparent.
Still, somehow the textured walls threw me. I forgot the basics of filling holes. And there were LOTS of holes in the walls when we moved in.
Of course, our situation was in the air at the time, not knowing if we would actually be allowed to arrange financing to go in debt for the next thirty years and "buy" this beautiful dwelling place.
My original efforts in patching the holes resulted in spots that had the wrong texture, which, when viewed from just the right angle, stood out in disturbing contrast to the rest of the wall.
We signed the papers in October. In debt again! Woot!
Last month we bought a gallon of paint in the original shade painted by the builder and returned one of the highlight walls to it's former tint. I took the time to scrape the poorly patched spots with a knife blade trying to keep the original texture while removing the extra spackle I'd allowed to dry around each patch.
The newly painted wall had no unsightly patches to draw the disdainful eye.
The secret when filling holes is to wipe off the extra spackle with a damp cloth or paper towel before it dries. Or at least before you paint those patches...
Now I know.
Still, I have dozens of holes around the house to redo.
She left me with that task this morning as she left with her sister to visit their Dad.
So I got out my pocket knife.
The spots are scraped. I'm hopeful that my efforts are effective and successful.
I've got some painting to do.