Paint By Backside

“Normality is a paved road: it’s comfortable to walk but no flowers grow.” 

– Vincent Van Gogh

For me, it’s very normal that none of my flowers grow. 

It’s the time of year again where everything is in bloom – the trees, the flowers, the colours and the humans. 

People begin spending more time outdoors on patios, ball diamonds and city pathways. 

Every evening, I venture out for my leisurely neighbourhood walk but unlike Mr. Van Gogh’s wise words, I have a paved road that’s comfortable to walk on, but others make me uncomfortable.

Let me paint you a picture:

It’s a beautiful, calm evening. I have my headphones on, podcast started, sneakers tied and no-teeth-smile cued up. Nothing can bring me down until I come across a “path hogger.” Not to be confused with path joggers. 

Path hoggers are people who do not move themselves or others over when another individual is approaching on the path or sidewalk. Am I in Glenmore Park or Central Park?

I don’t understand why I, a singular person, needs to step off the paved path at the risk of rolling my ankle for couples, kids, dogs and bikes. 

I think it’s cute that you’re holding hands but it is possible to continue to hold hands while scooching behind your partner for 2.2 seconds.

Okay, small children get a small pass, a SMALL pass. 

Then listen, dogs are great – I’m not poo-pooing on dogs but I am poo-pooing on humans.

Why do you and your dog have to take up the entire walking space? Isn’t the purpose of a dog leash to be able to control your pet? So you have the resources to control your animal closer to you as I pass. 

And adult bikers, you know the rules.

Although it may not sound like it, I do thoroughly enjoy my evening walks, I just wish I was the only one who enjoyed evening walks. 

From experience, it appears I am good at avoiding people but not door frames…

In Counter Productive, I damaged property. Today, I damaged clothes AND a project. 

As stated in the previous blog post, it’s common for care facilities to have ongoing maintenance and repairs. Moreover, it is even more common for people with dementia to touch, feel and fidget with objects which at times can increase the need for touch ups and repairs. 

My name plate outside of my office door had been victim to a very patient fidgeter not once, not twice but three times. This third time, he successfully pulled the name plate off the wall and took a quarter of the wall’s paint with it.  

It was quite impressive. I don’t even have the patience to pick my nail polish off in one sitting.

This large paint chip has been quite the eye sore outside of my office door which every visitor, staff member and resident has felt the need to point out. Not to mention, it’s caused confusion. Without door signage, I’ve been mistaken for the educator, manager and someone’s mother. 

The other day a painter was in the building to touch up a resident room when she walked by my office and noticed the gash outside my door. She halted with a look of disgust stating, “did you do this?!”

Now, why on earth would she think it was me?

She then returned the next morning with supplies in hand. She painted; I responded to emails while we discussed the organization, pets and how difficult painting really is. She not only painted the wall but she also generously painted the door and the door frame as well.  

She inquired if all of the marks on the door were from me or the residents. I had to admit a bit of both. 

When she was finished, she asked me to leave my door open for 20 minutes to let the paint dry and to be cautious when entering and exiting my office.

Telling me to be cautious is like telling a bull to be cautious in a china shop.

About 10 minutes later, a resident approached my office and I stood up to meet her at the door. As we was conversing, the painter strolled by and exclaimed, “Rachelle! You just watched me paint that door frame. It’s wet and now you’re wet!”

I hadn’t realized that while I was talking with the resident, I leaned back against the door frame. I looked like I was now a member of The White Stripes. 

Thankfully she was able to wipe the paint off of me but she could not wipe the smile off of her face. 

One thing I know for sure? Painting is no walk in the park.