A Humorous Look at Creative Ways to Paint Your Ceiling
Fellow homeowners who aren’t overhead-painting impaired have told me that I’m just too impatient; that if I took my time, I could master this skill and even come to enjoy it. Unless someone invents a chocolate-flavored paint that can be applied with my tongue, I truly doubt it.
To avoid painting my ceilings, I would do anything, including removing light bulbs from overhead fixtures to hide the dingy evidence, moving, and once, actually ripping the offending ceiling down. A houseful of plaster dust and dangling wires were preferable to facing the paint can.
For years, my ceilings remained a glaring oversight in rooms that might otherwise have earned me the decorating diva of the year award. There was even a rumor that House Beautiful wanted to cancel my subscription because of my ceiling maintenance deficiencies.
Embarrassed, I started looking for creative ways to cover up my ceilings. They were too low to drop them, bed sheets weren’t big enough (or flame retardant enough) to hide them, and tin was pretty but I thought we might eventually start to feel like canned beans.
Finally, visiting my brother-in-law’s one afternoon, I happened to look up. It was a beautiful sight. Tongue and groove pine, he told us, was lightweight, easy to install and inexpensive. He and my husband discussed the mechanics, and I got a crick in my neck admiring my fantasy ceiling.
We started with the dining room. We measured, counted, compared prices, purchased, cut, numbered, sanded, and polyurethaned; three coats. Three months later, chalk line, saw, square, pencils, glue gun, nail gun, and three drills all lined up on the counter, we began our ceiling project.
Glue applied, we put the first piece in place. It fit perfectly. He held it up, I nailed it, and we took turns drilling and screwing. The fifth piece was slightly warped, the ninth a bit long; the newly painted walls acquired a few scrapes. We used a little extra muscle, and trimmed a quarter inch from an edge. We were getting tired, but we were almost at the halfway mark and wanted to keep going.
The thirteenth piece fit well too. It was a tad short, but the molding would hide that. I nailed it up and stepped down off my chair. As we turned to grin at each other, the board bounced off both our heads at almost the same moment. Just because it makes that satisfying little pop, and puts a dent in your wood, doesn’t necessarily mean there are any nails left in your nail gun.
When we put the last board in place, my arms ached. I had glue under what was left of my fingernails, raw knuckles, sore knees and a lump on my head, but things were looking up and now, without getting an eyeful of paint, I could, too.
