The Green Room

Larry and I had been married for three years. During that entire time my husband and I had been renovating our house, pretty much non-stop. Although it really was a magnificent brick and limestone structure built in 1882, complete with copper spires and massive leaded windows, it was without a doubt what would be referred to as a “fixer-upper.” During our final walk-through one week before we closed the deal, our realtor sensed we had some trepidations and gushed enthusiastically, “But you’ve got to admit, the house has great bones!”

Three year later, I also was entering the ninth month of my pregnancy, still working full-time and more exhausted than I ever could have believed possible for any human to be. The entire first floor renovation of our “fixer-upper” had been completed. All that remained was the painting of our dining room. The large formal room with fourteen-foot high ceilings, had a wide plaster picture railing, an ornate plaster medallion in the center of the ceiling, and natural-colored maple wood floors with black walnut inlay patterns all around the perimeter. We chose dark hunter green, our favorite color. It also was reminiscent of so many of the places in which we’d dined during our honeymoon in Italy. The effect of the dark green walls agains wood floors and a plaster ceiling would be dramatic.

Before committing to our color fully, we’d chosen three different shades and painted one-third of a wall, top to bottom, with each of our chosen colors as per my architect brother-in-law’s recommendations. “Leave the paint swatches there for at least three days, five if possible. That will allow you to see what they look like during different times of day and in different weather conditions when the light changes.” Perfect advice that confirmed our first-choice color had also been perfect.

The next day, a Friday, our painters arrived promptly at 8:00 a.m. Gallon cans of our chosen green were lined up on the tarp-covered dining room floor. By 5:00 o’clock, the room was a rich hunter green. I sat down at the table to admire the freshly painted space, reminiscing about the intense flavors of Osso Bucco and fantasizing about a return trip to Italy in the not too distant future.

That Saturday, Hope, my mother-in-law, popped in on her way downtown to see for herself just how the room I’d raved about turned out. Beyond horrified, she simply couldn’t contain herself. “Oh, Deary, this simply is way, way too dark!” She opined. “Frankly, I think you’ve made a terrible mistake. Surely you realize you’ll get totally sick of it in no time at all and never mind what your dishes or linens will look like in here. Did you even give that the slightest thought?”

Bright and early the following morning, Hope was on our front porch hammering at the door. Another woman — redheaded just like Hope— lingered in the shadows. I noticed that under her arm she carried three bundles of what appeared to be decks of paint store samples. I opened the door. “Marlene, this is Nadine. She’s a professional color consultant,” said my mother-in-law. Then, “I’m positive she’ll be able to help you.”

What, indeed, was a color consultant I wondered as the two strode right past me through our hallway, toward the back of the house and into the dining room. They fanned paint color wheels across the dining table, pulled no fewer than five greens forward and discussed the merits and underlying tones of each. They strolled back and forth to the windows while holding their selected paint chips at different angles in front of different windows as though I wasn’t there.

The next afternoon, my husband met me at the maternity wing of our hospital. Preoccupied with childbirth, paint colors couldn’t have been farther from our minds. It was Memorial Day weekend. That meant an expected sparsity of hospital staff and hence, there was no one on duty who had authority to discharge us. At last, three days later, I arrived home with our newborn in my arms. I eased myself into our oversized living-room arm chair and looked around. I’d been gone for a mere three days yet it felt like ages. Something in our house was off, but what was it? From my vantage point in the front room, I could see all the way through the first floor to the back room which was our dining room.

During my absence, Hope and Nadine—the esteemed color-consultant—had managed to have our dining room repainted in pastel sea-foam green. For the next two weeks, my husband and I agreed to pretend we’d been reincarnated as rabbits and were eating inside a giant head of lettuce. Three weeks later, I’d regained some energy. My husband called our painters. “Hey Charley, any change you guys are available next week to paint our dining room?”

“Didn’t we just do that? I heard him ask on the speaker-phone, sounding a bit confused. “Did you change your minds? Did we do a bad job?”

“Absolutely not. You did a great job and we need you to paint it the exact same color again.” He couldn’t figure out what in the world was going on. “Get the exact same paint, Charley,” added my husband.

The next morning, the guys arrived at 8:00 a.m. Again, by 5:00 p.m., the room was dark hunter green. My husband and I stood back admiring it yet again.

Sunday afternoon, my in-laws arrived bearing gifts, tea cakes and an office-sized urn of coffee. They cooed over their new grandson while my husband set our dining room table. We moved into the room and took seats. I placed the platter of pastries in the center of the table while Hope filled mugs of coffee, passing them around. Task completed, she sat down to enjoy her coffee. But as she gazed admiringly at the freshly painted walls, confusion spread across her face. Raised eyebrows imbued her with a look of utter shock.

After that, nothing pertaining to paint color was ever again discussed in our house.