La Casa Pintada

For five consecutive days I have been showering with a strange hombre hanging outside my bathroom window. Although there is a thin shade drawn between us, perhaps we are no longer strangers. But star-crossed most definitely. We do not speak the same language.

Like a circus performer, he balances on an aluminum extension ladder two stories up, sanding and scraping and calking and hammering, always timing his work projects to appear in that spot just as I begin shampooing my hair. Maybe that corner of the house has the best early morning sunlight?

Unnerving at first, barely noticeable now.

Finally, after the spring hail storm, the installation of our new roof is complete. But still the workers cling to the walls and scale the columns like superheroes, prepping the outside for paint. Second nature to them, breathing. The constant noise and commotion bores into my brain. I can’t concentrate. A fine layer of sawdust floats on the surface of the pool. 

Lucy y Annabelle son muy locos. 

For two days, they power washed the outside. Every window leaked…. Seems blow flies don’t like water. They’ve migrated on to dryer, sunnier windowsills….

At high noon the men lounge in the driveway, lunching and enjoying a brief siesta. Recharging. 

All afternoon Latino music blares, blends with the grinding music of the electric sander, filling the air around our home, down our block, reverberating into all of East Dallas. A painting party. A week long fiesta.

Suddenly I crave a margarita.

talya

Musical Pairing: