Oh, that sweet little old radio station that has me in its grip. I love it so – what I wouldn’t do for KFAI…. I am one of the elite members of “Freshen Up Fresh Air,” or as it has become known by its acronym, “The FUFA Committee.”
The greenroom (or lounge area, I guess you’d call it) and front lobby of the station hasn’t seen a paint job since, well, I believe George H.W. Bush was in office. It just looked sad, tired and pathetic in there; like no one gave a shit.
Well, it’s a community radio station where people DO give a shit, but things don’t always get done the way they’re supposed to. Sometimes things just slip through the cracks, and projects such as renovation have a tendency to get put on the back burner, even when you have over 500 volunteers.
So the FUFAs, some high-powered, highly caffeinated middle-aged ladies who don’t take “no” for an answer got together and started making plans. “Let’s do this!” “How much money can we get for this, Patti? You’re on the board, find out!” I got the FUFA project on the agenda of a board meeting, and we got a nice sum voted into our 2014 budget. I was mad with power…. Not really. This whole project was pushed forward by two Nancys, one Susan and one Pat – they were the driving force behind FUFA.
We met several times with our Executive Director and our Office Coordinator, and our plans started to gel. Paint samples, tile samples for the small kitchenette and two bathrooms, and, oh, WE CAN GET SOME NEW FURNITURE, TOO!!! I don’t know if we can deal with that much, you know, CHANGE! For many, many years, we’ve been sitting on a mangled old futon and matching chair. Many overnight programmers have laid their heads to rest upon that futon, which had a lovely red velour cover on it – you know, when the original upholstery got too dirty – we covered it with red velour in order to sanitize it.
One of the Nancys and I met at a local furniture store whose owner was willing to work out a trade for underwriting with us – we pored over catalogues looking for inspiration – as of this date we haven’t ordered anything, but we have our top selections sorted out and I believe the order will go in tomorrow.
The painting got started this weekend. But, back up, there’s WALL PREP, isn’t there? Dents from people coming in with their amps, dollies, lord only knows what else. Bad previous paint job mistakes. Holes from five-hundred awards in frames we had all over the walls. Nothing wrong with having all the awards everywhere, but we FUFAs are of the opinion that we need to clear our space of old awards and make room for new ones. Is that a Feng shui thing? Maybe. The Nancys know.
So there was a little conflict and philosophical differences in styles of spackling. I have done my fair share, having owned a 1908 house with plaster lathe walls and having painted every room; I lay the spackle on pretty thick, scrap it off, then sand it down. The Nancys spackle very very lightly and then you don’t need to sand it down very much. I don’t think you get the crack filled in that way. Oh well, we will have to agree to disagree on this one I think.
I am home now from the first weekend of paining I mean painting. Everything hurts. I aimed to go for a nice walk with the dogs now, but my legs don’t want to move. My hands – what am I, like 95-years-old? It was up and down the big 10-foot ladder I brought from home to do the “cutting” on the top of the walls – I must have been using muscles I do not ordinarily use. Then lots more cutting on the bottom of the walls on my hands and knees. Squatting. I don’t do a lot of that. Ok, I’m not in good shape, obviously.
And then people coming in and out of the station. We have signs all over the place “Wet Paint,” “Under Construction.” We’re right there, painting – there’s paint everywhere! “Oh, can I get in here to do this or that – can you move?” “NO!” “Could you look for our guests and let them in when they arrive?” “NO!” My inner bitch got let out this afternoon, one might say.
So I am going to put my paint-stained achy body into a hot tub full of Epsom salts and lavender and see if I can coax myself back into a civil and pleasant state of mind.
No, dogs, no walkies, I’m all FUFA’d.