I have never considered myself a particularly domestic woman. In years past I seemed to be busy enough that I didn't pay a lot of attention to my home decoration. Get a couch, sit on it. Paint a wall and leave it. Are there enough chairs at the dining table? So, why this sudden onrush of gilding the nest? It would be a miracle of nature if I was planning to populate the nest, so that's not it. Do I need some sort of validation that this is my little space in the universe? Am I just tired of what is already here? Who knows? But I have just dropped a shocking amount of hard-earned income into the coffers of several companies who flog wall stencils. We'll see how this all works out when they arrive and I try to figure out how I'm going to configure them. I've priced drapes/hardware for the bedroom and summer drapes for the living room. I can't really buy any more print art because I've run out of wall space and the stuff that is already hanging on the walls is there because I still love it.
When I bought the house some years ago the fact that all the rooms were painted the same deep taupe-family color and all the molding was the same material seemed like a mindless relief from all the visual and emotional Sturm und Drang of the house I was moving from. When I decided to spend one year's income tax refund on a bathroom remodel, I had to repaint that bathroom when a wall was removed. That project inspired me to consider what else could be made better (more "me") in my living space. It has become an ongoing project. I have lists and lists on the List Apps on my smartphone. I'm not one who feels comfortable exhibiting all my thought processes in social media, so don't look for me on Pinterest or anything such like. I did go as far as getting out my stencil project file the other night when friends were over for dinner. The women looked at what I was considering, made intelligent comments on size, weight, color, placement, etc. One of the men said, "So, you're going to paint weeds on your walls?" They're not weeds, they're ornamental grass. Oh well, that particular individual spends hours and hours every weekend on a lawn tractor mowing acres of lawn during the growing season. As my mom used to say, "Consider the source ..." I've asked my Latin guru for a couple of translations that I'm considering for a statement on the dining area wall. Fortunately, his sense of humor doesn't run to telling me something scatological or inflammatory as the correct translation ... I hope!
My yard guy, Jay, and I are doing our annual winter dance in which we try to find a time when we both can be at my house at the same time to decide what needs to be done while the plants are still dormant. In a fit of manic exuberance (that may be redundant), I planted several American River birches along my driveway when I first moved in. They are now rather tall trees, which, in the summer, droop their weighty branches all the way to the ground. This is aesthetically pleasing, but it also means I have no idea what's coming down the road until I'm at the end of the driveway. So, we prune in the winter. The ornamental Japanese Maple needs attention again so that it doesn't look like a Dr. Seuss creature in the summer. I keep threatening to plant flowers somewhere, but that would simply involve weeding so it will probably remain in the threat category. I plant the myriad of pots on the deck and then forget to water them. Jay constructed a line from the solitary water faucet on the back of the house to the deck, so maybe I'll have better luck this year. My green finger friends suggest a drip system. Sounds a bit medicinal ...
I have a new housekeeper. My last housekeeper was with me for ten years, so starting with a new one is a bit traumatic. It's rather like a new, intimate relationship. Frankly, people who are cleaning your house for you get to know an awful lot about you, and I have rather serious trust issues after the last couple of intimate relationships (which involved no house cleaning!). However, this woman comes with sterling references from people for whom she has been house cleaning for years. We've had our minor contretemps, but I think it's just the settling in process. What I have never been able to figure out is why housekeepers never put anything back exactly where it was when they are cleaning. My sense of the aesthetic may not be brilliant, but it is my own, and in my own home I want things to be where I intentionally placed them. Someone suggested that it's the housekeeper's way of letting me know that those things were, in fact, cleaned. Hmmmm. I think I'll know if they aren't cleaned without having to spend 15 minutes after I get home moving everything back where it belongs. Oh well, she leaves the harps alone and my music stands remain in their normal condition of artistic disorder, so I am reasonably content. I don't think I want to know what she may be thinking about me at this stage of our relationship!! At least the pet hair gets scraped up weekly ...
With that I shall force myself to get back to what little I actually have to do at the weekend. May all the best be with you and yours.
I'm
not sure if there's one right place I'm supposed to be, he said, but I know a
couple of wrong places I'd give a second try in a heartbeat. (StoryPeople)
No comments:
Post a Comment