Paintings

Mark and I made the decision to renovate our kitchen last summer. It was like pulling on a hanging thread of a sweater. You think if you give the thread a quick yank it will come out but after you pull a few times you realize that the sweater is unraveling and you aren’t sure when to stop. If you keep going will there be more damage or will it resolve itself. So you keep pulling.

That is somewhat like how the work at our house began by yanking out the kitchen, the unraveling started. We moved on to the dining room and then the front room. I would like to state – everything and everyone worked well together. I was complimented on how organized it was and everyone showed up when they were scheduled. Did I mention the painter?

When the new kitchen island was put in I was excited. It was almost twice the size as the old one and truly a work of art. There was only one thing that had to be fixed – the color of the wall that had been painted the same color as the rest of the kitchen. It sits between the kitchen and the dining room and it had to be perfect. As we all know, perfection takes a while to accomplish.

After lengthy discussions about possible color options, to speed up the process, the painter went to the paint store and bought back 17 books of color charts. I’m sure he was thinking to himself, I would pick a color, any color, so he could finish this job and move on. From the color charts, I selected the perfect shade. Once it was on the wall, it made the space look extremely blah. Not quite the effect I was going for.

Back to the drawing board. The painter with extreme patience went to a different paint shop for more color options. I selected another beautiful color, he gladly painted the wall. I came home and my immediate reaction was – where did this color come from? He reminded me, while speaking ve-r-r-ry slowly that I had selected it, only this morning. I said, oh, I didn’t realize it was brrrr-o-wwwwn. I can speak slowly too.

I assured him I would go out the next day and look for the right color. I will skip the next three conversations and wall color changes because I must protect the innocent and guilty alike.

I am sure the painter was as tired as I was with the number of changes that had taken place thus far. Undeterred, I kept up my search for the perfect color. I eventually found it and rather than call the painter, I decided to paint the wall myself. By now, I had seen him do this small piece of wall many times. How hard could it be?

I had all the tools I needed and so painted the wall. The end product wasn’t quite what I was looking for but I now had the right color but too shiny. I returned to the shop, they knew me by name and I’m sure were taking bets on the color I would get this time. I ignored the sniggering and purchased my paint with my head held high.

While I was in this elevated space, I decided to call the painter and let him know I now had the correct color and all our problems were over. All he had to do was return to the house and do one last cover-up and our painting nightmares were over. I coaxed a reluctant agreement from him and I’m pretty sure I heard a stifled scream as he hung up the phone but it could have been background noise.

He came to the house and immediately asked who had butchered the wall. I was indignant but didn’t want to get into an argument with the man who would make my wall beautiful, so I said, ‘I painted it.’ He said, ‘Ma’am, this is a job for professionals.” Swallowing my response, I left him to correct the tragedy that had become my island wall.

I am pleased to say, the wall is beautiful and the perfect balance between the kitchen and dining room. I would like to add that the accent wall in my front room was a breeze. All I will admit is that it was painted only nine times by the same long-suffering painter.

Who knew walls could be so difficult?

Examined!

The good news is that I am a recently minted and polished Project Management Professional. I would like to say I passed the exam on the first try. Unfortunately it took me two attempts, lots of soul searching and ego mending to get it together.

I’m a person who takes exams and studying seriously. I love school! I am the student who will sit in the front of the class, so I can make clear eye contact with the teacher and raise my hand high to indicate that I know the answer or have a very clever, insightful question to ask. These attributes don’t necessarily make me the teacher’s pet, nor, now that I think of it, a favorite classmate. Note to self – work on these areas for the next course.

The PMP exam was challenging (read hard). I feel somewhat vindicated when my best friend from college often mentions lots people don’t pass on their first attempt – I however think, I’m not most people.

I learned of my non-success just before Christmas. Talk about a knock on the head. I was in shock. How could this happen? Did they get the right booklet? Was my name on it clearly? Who graded these papers anyway? I looked at the score and immediately contacted the organization administering the exam and carefully explained that I had passed four of the six parts of the exam, which, in the real world, means I passed. However, in the PMP world that does not constitute a pass. Totally dissatisfied I demanded to speak with the President of the United States but they didn’t have his number.

As I quietly accepted defeat, I had to start telling people because I was extremely loud when I let people I was taking the exam. They now wanted to know the results. I whispered the outcome to a few people. One of them being a lady, Delight, who, took the exam when I did, and laughed when I told her an answer I had selected. Needless to say, she was forced to do the same soul searching I did.

Christmas got a little ugly for me last year. Between my brothers laughing at my discomfort and my husband trying to help me see the silver lining, I was determined to re-sit and pass this darn exam.

Delight, to her credit, found a class for us to take in the US and started the ball rolling. We got to Viriginia in mid-April. The teacher, who explained things in detail before the class, stated that we had to be committed, focused and motivated to pass the exam. I knew I was in the right place. He also added that we only needed to study for 45 minutes each evening and we would be ready.

I’m not sure which planet he lives on but 45 minutes turned into four hours of study each night for me. I had to be able to go over the stuff he taught each day, make sure I understood what he was talking about and then prepare for the next day. Sleep became a luxury that week. I am not sure if I was coming or going most of the time.

I know the night before the exam, I was dreaming (in color) of the difference between quality control and quality assurance. I had formulas floating around in my head and I knew my inputs, outputs, tools and techniques without looking. I was ready.

As I sat in the exam room with a bank of computers and others taking all sorts of exams, I confidently clicked on the first question and read it. My heart sank. I couldn’t understand the question, much less figure out the answer. I wanted to cry but there were no tissues nearby and I didn’t dare stand so, I dabbed by eyes with my shirt sleeve and went to the next question. After the fourth question, I realized I was at the wrong computer, taking the wrong exam. Just as I was about to leave, I decided to look at the title screen – it definitely said Project Management Institute – Project Management Professional Exam.

That sealed it, I was in the correct place, at the correct time, taking the correct exam. Having firmly established this I figured I was losing my mind and had to get a grip. I used all the techniques at my disposal – deep breathing, shoulder relaxation and prayer.

I was now ready – the next four hours were a blur. I know as I clicked on ‘submit’ I was prepared for whatever response the computer spit out. I’m pretty sure I waited three hours for the results but the administrator assured me it was less than five minutes.

Success! I had passed and to add to the accomplishment Delight passed as well. Let me just say for the record, if you ever need a study partner, Delight is your girl. I'm sure she is ready for the next challenge. Yours truly is contemplating a Ph.D. so I can be called Dr. Bademosi Wilson (not sure that is a good enough reason) but I feel that is my next academic hurdle. Yes, you can look for me in the front of the class, I’ll be the one asking the teacher deep and meaningful questions.

A year without clothes

After writing the last blog, like any normal person, I sought the advice of my 357 closest friends on Facebook. I got comments from ‘total genius’ (posted by me) to – ‘are you crazy?’ Not deterred, I responded to the two or three people who, like me, felt it was a wonderful idea and planned to start on January 1, 2011.

With a firm date in place, I looked through my closet and made a list of items I absolutely needed to have before I went on my apparel diet. My plan was to go do some crazy shopping while in New York over the Christmas holidays. I had everything in place, including an extra suitcase for all my new stuff.

I planned my shopping carefully. I made a note of which shops I would get certain items from. I was deliberate and focused. Nowhere in my plans did I take into account there would be one of the worst snow blizzards to hit NYC in twenty years. I could not believe it – not only did the City shut down but transportation was suspended, airports closed and people told to stay at home.

Given that we were already in NY I decided that nothing was going to keep this woman from her only mission – shopping. In the absence of transportation, I decided to walk through the waist high snow piles and bravely face the cold, slush and frozen feet to make it to my destinations. After traversing for 32 blocks, I found my favorite store in the world CLOSED!

What do you mean you are closed? Many others struggled in, despite being told to stay at home. There were retailers committed to the after Christmas sales and returned gifts. I sat heavily on the doorstep of Chico's and fighting tears tried to put a new plan in place. I considered breaking the windows of the shop and bursting in to find my stuff. However, I couldn’t think of a good enough explanation that would get New York City’s finest on my side.

With a last forlorn look at the beautiful red sweater in the window – the one the matched my eyes – I reluctantly moved on. I tore up my plan and meandered my way back to the hotel. I was so dispirited I didn’t have the heart to look for anything else.

I returned to Bermuda empty handed and without anything new. I was now ready to begin the New Year by shopping in my closet. I would have to find things for every season, every occasion and every meeting in the back of my closet. I would have to rely on my previous impeccable taste to ensure that whatever I currently own would work.

One of the first things I discovered in my closet was a pair of silver flat loafers. For the life of me, don’t remember buying them and I’m pretty sure that until I found them I would have sworn I didn’t own a pair of silver flats. Is there such a thing as a silver flats fairy? Well, she visited my house and saved my life.

I found that when all else fails flat silver shoes work – and if they don't no one will ever say anything about them. I found that my silver shoes go well with jeans, black pants, khakis, long skirts. You name it I’ve made them work for me.

It is now June and the first half of the year is almost over. Other than silver shoes, what other opportunities have I had to bring out the best of my closet? I have a metallic gold shirt. Yes, I wore it to a client event. I remember buying the shirt and at the time it dazzled me but in the harsh, cold, reality of my closet it asked questions, ‘what were you thinking?’ ‘are you seriously planning to wear me out and to an important client event at that? Ignoring the questions, I took the tags off and paired it with a navy suit and bronze shoes and refused to look myself in the eyes as I checked my appearance in the mirror.

There was the time I found a pair of sandals I had no recollection of buying or even wearing. But judging from their somewhat dusty state, they have been in my closet for many moons. I pulled them out and got a few complements. Note to self, bring out those puppies again.

In the last six months I have had a few close purchasing calls. There was the time I was in Virginia and accidentally tried on a pair of shoes. They were beautiful and fit me perfectly. I had to walk away with the shoes I wore into the store. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they would have come home with me under normal circumstance.

Then I celebrated my birthday. What to do? What to do? I usually treat myself to something each year – a cute pair of earrings, a nice outfit or a pair of shades that will take me through the summer. Nothing. Nada. Zip. It took all my courage to resist the temptation but I made it.

We are now in June and I am as strong and resolute as I was in January. I will not yield to temptation. I will remain focused and know there is a bigger picture. I know I will make it through this year wiser, stronger and in need of a new wardrobe.

I have recruited a few people along the way. I won’t call their names but they know who you are. I appreciate the strength you have given to me when times looked bleak.

If you haven’t already – join our crusade, save some money and appreciate your wardrobe. It’s not too late!