Homer gets a make-over

 

Homer gets a make-over

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Poor Homer. He started to look disreputable. Rather down in the mouth, long in the tooth, rusty around the edges.

Sadly, I had reached the age to consider procuring a companion. While Homer is not exactly a cabana boy, I was attracted to him the first time I saw him. His price was mind-boggling. It took me a good year of back-and-forth trips to Tonala, home of huge artisans bazaars, before I made the purchase.

This was back in the first couple years I lived here, when each trip to Tonala was a treasure hunt for fun and artistic touches for my casa and jardin. Every year I visited that corner shop and gazed on Homer with wanting.

Homer. I’d better explain further. He’s made of metal, same as the tin man in “The Wizard of Oz” but distinguished looking. Homer, a skeleton in a tuxedo, complete with spats and a top hat, cigarillo in one hand and a cane in the other, stands about 7’ tall. I do like a man to whom I can look up with admiration, especially one who doesn’t argue with my decisions, who lets me go about my business with complacency.

Still distinguished, but, yes, time has taken a toll, Homer looks a bit disreputable. He might be no longer welcome among the snoot-and-loot crowd.

I suppose it’s my fault. I let him live outdoors with nary a care for the elements. I began to think about giving my man a make-over.

My first thinking would have made Homer something of an art project. While not envisioning a face lift and hours at the gym to bulk him up, I was considering a complete paint job, adding tiny silver conchos with a touch of turquoise to gussy up his pant legs, though Homer’s legs are awfully skinny. And teeth. Poor guys teeth are more stained than mine.

The sheer work (and cost, all those colors) involved in a complete make-over seemed daunting and I managed to put it off, again and again.

I’m glad I did. Three women friends, Ana, Michelle and Susan, were over for a visit and we were standing around Homer while I told them our story and my plans for a paint job.

“NO!” they exclaimed, in unison. “Homer is wonderful just as he stands.” “Nothing looks worse than glaring white teeth in an old man’s mouth.” “He is aging the same as we are!” “Every ding and dent tells a story.”

Well, that’s me told. I listened. I looked. “I think you are right.” While more than willing to give up the hard work, I saw Homer in a different light. Aging along with me. I like that.

Michelle then said, “Why not just knock off some of the rust. Put some Coca-Cola in a spray bottle, spray the rusty spots, wait a few minutes, brush it off with water. When he is dry, spray him with varnish.”

 Yes. Why not indeed. I asked Leo to buy me some Coca-Cola, the national drink of Mexico, and here you thought that was tequila, and please pick up two cans of spray varnish for my metal man.

I got to work. I didn’t remove every speck of rust, but the process made me glad I’ve never been a big soda pop drinker. When I do want that fizz, however, I generally chose Coca-Cola. Notice the past tense usage there.

My big fear is that if I put any more magic remover on Homer, I might render him nude. Enough is enough, I decided.

I’ve never been a whiz with spray cans of paint but I gave it my best go, and voila, a new man emerged. Newish. Sort of newish. Cleaner, at any rate. Spiffy. Ready for the next phase of our lives.

Sondra Ashton

HWC: Looking out my back door

July 18, 2024

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