decorating

Nuffin ‘Bout Birthin’ No Valances

/ wvfurandroot / 4 Comments

I love windows.

One of the great pleasures of being down to one job is the time to nest in my home. Another is having time to blog.

One of the great pleasures of living where I do is I don’t have to cover the windows with hundreds of dollars of fabric to keep the creeps from peeping in. When living in various towns and cities, intellectually I understood the need for curtains and draperies, but I hated them. I particularly hated them in my first house – the house with leaded glass and ornate molding. And I hated them during the winter when frugality dictated they be closed to keep the heating bill within the realm of payment possibility.

The last set of drapes I remember really liking were those worn by Carol Burnett during one of her more memorable skits.

Nobody suggests "window treatments" here!

When I landed in the barn at the end of a dirt road on top of a hill, I gloried in having lots of uncovered windows. I flaunted my bare windows. I’m a window junkie, so there was much to flaunt.

After twenty years of fabric-free flaunting of glass and molding, it seems I’ve gotten over the illicit thrill of naked windows. For the past few years, some of the windows have begun to look bare – unfinished – improperly accessorized – and, well, being the trendy chick I am, I began looking at what are now known as window treatments and used to be called drapes.

[Not all the windows, mind you. There are some that I’ll never cover and you can’t make me.]

Window treatments have silly prices. Window treatments should not cost more than the window. They shouldn’t cost more than major appliances, my first car, a root canal or the yearly vet bill for three dogs. People pay this kind of money? Hand me my smelling salts.

Still and all, some of my windows, particularly those in the kitchen, began looking a bit forlorn.

Mmmmmm

Kitchen curtains are hideous. I don’t want prancing chefs, embroidered tea kettles, frolicking kittens, or fruits and vegetables. The Great Kitchen Curtain Search was further complicated by my chosen and much loved color scheme. I am inordinately fond of the combination of dark brown, blue and white. That trilogy comforts me, inspires me, and was the first to teach me the power of color.

My very first kitchen was blue, brown and white and the last kitchen I’ll ever have is blue, brown and white. One wouldn’t think that would be such a rough combination to accessorize with a bit of fabric. One would be surprised. One was surprised.  For that first kitchen, I found a set of tiers in the three colors and, since, country was all the rage, they worked.  It helped that I had only one window in the kitchen.  [Raging or not, my patience for ruffles can wear thin.]

What can I say?

In a fit of country kitsch brought on by low blood sugar (or possibly a hangover), I bought some white eyelet valances with blue embroidered flowers for the current (and last) kitchen. They weren’t totally hideous, but they were totally too short and looked flippin’ ridiculous. Think Jethro in pants and sleeves that were never long enough. I took them down to wash them and never put them back up. That was, hmmm, five years ago?

Yup. That's a sofa throw if I ever saw one.

The compulsion to partially cover kitchen windows ratcheted up a few months ago. I looked and looked. Surfed the web. Haunted clearance sales. I found the valances I thought were the ones of my dreams – Indian batik with a lotus motif and beading. Valances were my preferred covering because they don’t really cover, but do solve the oh-my-god-what-do-I-do-with-the-windows problem. $250 for cotton strips of fabric? People pay that? Really?

So. I found some Indian batik on the web (sans beads) and decided to sew some valances. The fabric arrived and it’s gorgeous, but I decided it would make a better throw for the sofa than window treatments. Besides, I didn’t have time to learn how to bead.

I just realized the blue swirls are actually the word coffee.

So, I toddled off to the fabric store and found some really spiffy cotton in all the right colors. I began haunting websites for instructions on how to make valances. Good grief they made it sound complicated. Let me just remind you of the great fear I hold for my sewing machine.

Both lengths of fabric have been sitting on the church pew for months. I’ve been trying to a) find time b) when I was motivated to c) tackle the Beelzebub of Bobbinhood. It never happened. That particular trilogy can’t be achieved without additives to my blood chemistry.

Now ain't they something?

One thing led to another and then another and another and, in short, while trying to find a Mother’s Day gift, I ran across the Most Beautiful Valances in the Whole Wide World. At 90% off with free shipping. I clicked, whipped out the debit card, and typed in my address quicker than you can sing the three verses of To Hell with Sewing Machines. (Lawsy, Miz Scarlett, I don’t no nuffin ‘bout birthin’ no valances.)

They arrived today. I figured there was a good chance my internal image of them wasn’t going to match their external image. I also figured there was a good chance I would be sending them back.

Yup. It's spring.

They’re perfect! They’re ridiculous enough to be mine. (Who has taffeta in their kitchen, hmmm?) They’re the right size. They’ve got enough ornamentation to make them interesting. They’re a tasteful, elegant white.  They’re washable. They’re peachy keen, cool beans, awesome, righteous, neato, and groovy. I love them. They don’t completely cover the windows, they’re sheer enough to have no effect on the ability of the sun to flood my kitchen, and my windows look like they just won the tiara in the Miss Window Treatment contest. (With any luck the complete prize package includes Windex and a Windex-er.)

It’s a good day to be me.

[P.S. I saw my first blooming daffodil last week. I am so excited about a lot of stuff these days and not least among them is the opportunity to garden with my nights and weekends free free free.]

12-Step Program for Refrigerator Magnetaholics?

/ wvfurandroot / 5 Comments

I have a thing for refrigerator magnets. I realize it’s hokey, bourgeois, tacky and a sign of feeble intelligence. But I love them. They make me smile and, sometimes, guffaw. My penchant for excess is clearly apparent by simply looking at my refrigerator. [I was sorely disappointed to learn my dishwasher door was not metal. That’s probably a good thing as I tend to dribble coffee down the door.]

I don’t even pretend they’re utilitarian. I don’t use them to hold notes, children’s artwork, grocery lists, or medical appointment cards. They are there because I like them. Although when Chef Boy ‘R Mine was little, I had alphabet magnets near the bottom so he could play with them. The magnetic poetry is not on the fridge because I like to sprawl on the couch with the nifty magnetic board and compose my pearls of verse.

Some magnets I bought as souvenirs and others were gifts. Some my son made and some were made by friends. Many were given to me by HMOKeefe. Some I bought just because I liked them or they spoke to my heart.

When I painted the kitchen several years back I packed them away. For reasons I don’t understand and certainly can’t explain, they’ve languished in the closet all this time. During the holiday housecleaning frenzy it occurred to me while cleaning the surface of the refrigerator that I ought to perambulate my lazy butt over to the closet, fish them out and put them back on the fridge. And so I did.

I feel like I’ve reunited with old friends.

Among the puppies, quotes, Wizard of Oz characters, tropical fish and goofy photos are the Unemployed Philosopher Guild’s magnetic finger puppets. If you’ve never seen these things you really must meander over to their website. My favorite is Freud and his accompanying couch. But then again I’m uncommonly fond of Frieda Kahlo. Not to mention Schrödinger’s cat and Pavlov’s dog.

My magnets are not confined to the refrigerator. I also have them on my filing cabinet at work. I haven’t added to that display for a few years now. It’s time to remedy that.

As for alternate locations at home, for years, I’ve been trying to find the right sized piece of sheet metal without grooves to cover one side of my antique filing cabinet so the finger puppets can go live there. I’ve explored the possibility of magnetic paint, but I’m not convinced it will hold the heavier magnets and, besides, we all know how I hate painting. [And if you don’t, please understand that I would rather clean the cat box with my tongue than paint. While cleaning the cat box in that manner is never necessary, painting is and the bitching and moaning that occurs is legendary in its intensity.]

I really do have to get the puppets out of the kitchen to protect them from grease and the occasional flying food spatters. And the cat. She likes to pull them off and play kitty soccer with them. I’m a little tired of finding Dorothy Parker under the church pew though I think if she were still alive she would have something really funny to say about lying under a church pew.

Somewhere I have a package of 50 magnets the size of business cards with adhesive on one side. Their reason for being is to turn business cards into fridge magnets. When I bought them I did so because I figured making my own magnets would be a big bunch of fun. I’m going to throw in the towel and just go buy some more. [Lost Things drive me crazy. It doesn’t matter if I want them or not, their status as Lost is a challenge that makes me feel like a failure when frenzied looking is of no avail.]

Frankly, I think we all have some silly thing we collect not because we need them, but because they make us happy. My shoe collection is another, but that deserves a post of its own as do the reading glasses and watches (all of which need new batteries). And of course there are the cow and barn images.

I have a friend who has a display of antique toasters – at least a hundred of them – that are stacked two and three high on the top of his kitchen cabinets. I have an uncle who collects clocks. Every wall in his house is covered in clocks. I believe they number in the hundreds. My brother and his wife have every movie released on video tape or DVD in the last 20 years. My father acquires old computers he works feverishly on to get them running. He does nothing with his successes as most of them are such old technology they are useless. My mother is into glass birds and painted birdhouses – both collections are getting completely out of hand. [I am so dreading dealing with my parents’ house when the time comes – they’re getting close to needing intervention for hoarding.]

So, what is your silly thing? And how to you justify it?

Never met a tree I didn’t like.

/ wvfurandroot / 4 Comments

I have never met a Christmas tree I didn’t like.  Every year, without fail, I proclaim whichever tree I’m looking at as “the prettiest ever.”  I haven’t gotten my home trees up yet.  It’s a daunting project and I need to wait until I’ve got a fair span of uninterrupted time.  I’m thinking this weekend will prove to be relativelyvoid of extracurricular activities.

I was talking to my mom the other day.  I don’t remember how it came up, but I mentioned that a couple of years ago I saw a purple Christmas tree which would have been perfect for my lavender office. 

In the six years I’ve been at this place of employment, I haven’t gotten around to any sort of holiday decoration.  Since Christmas trees are, hands down, my favorite part of the holiday, this state of affairs is pitiful.

In what can only be termed a Christmas miracle, mom ran across a purple, table-top tree.  While I was wallowing on the couch at home, she marched in, handed me a purple tree and 16 silver balls and then marched out.  Woo Hoo!

I added a silver ribbon, some teeny-tiny ornaments and an old scarf for the skirt.  Voila!  It’s the prettiest tree ever.

Warmth and Sun

/ wvfurandroot / 2 Comments

Morning Daydreams

It’s getting to be that time of the year when I switch my living arrangements. It’s winter and in the interest of not paying Appalachian Power more than my mortgage, I’m moving upstairs.

The only way to keep the downstairs bearable is to crank the heat to 75 or 80 which turns the upstairs into the Sahara. In fact, I turn the heat down to about 55 at bedtime so that I can enjoy the cool bedroom I like while sleeping. It’s so delicious to burrow into the down comforter and feather bed without fear of heatstroke.

The barn has two temperature zones – cool downstairs and warm upstairs. During temperature extremes one floor of the house is insufferable while the other fluctuates between uncomfortable and pleasant. The reasons center on the cement slab the barn sits on along with the multitude of windows sans draperies.

By January, sometimes earlier, the downstairs carpet will be cold to the touch radiating proof that the slab is frozen. I abhor so the multitude of windows in the barn will also radiate unchecked cold. Indeed, my windows are dressed only in my dressing room so as to protect the mailman, the trash guys and the electric company’s meter readers from my brazen nudity. The airy lace panels do little to insulate. Nevertheless the dressing room is one of the rooms I will decamp to – that and the study with naps in the guest bedroom. Setting the furnace to a reasonable temperature keeps the shivering windows at bay most of the winter. On particularly frigid days, a space heater actually warms the room unlike its behavior on the first floor where the open floor plan defeats its abilities.

With the cold, dark days of winter I go upstairs not just in search of heat, but also light.  The upstairs is much less stingy with natural light than is the first floor.

Along with my dressing table, the dressing room is furnished with the completely ridiculous and much loved chaise. Oh how I dithered before plunking down a silly amount of money to buy it. I kept trying to justify the cost and couldn’t. While it was logical to think the room required something other than the vanity bench to sit on, the chaise was not the best choice.

One cannot just sit on the chaise. With its graceful s-curve, it invites a languorous and prone lounging. One is seduced by the comfort of the upholstery, there is no choice but to surrender and sprawl particularly since that s-curve makes just sitting uncomfortable. So the chaise is completely useless in facilitating the donning of socks or hosiery – my one feeble justification.

A chair would have been far more utilitarian, but much less fun.

Mmmm, sun-warmed silk.

Even with the lace panels, the dressing room is aglow with morning light. The winter sun hangs low in the sky streaming rays that make the chaise all the more irresistible. Its sybaritic splendor is further enhanced by a heavy silk kimono a dear friend gave me. There is a magic about silk that no other fabric comes close to imitating. I wrap myself in the kimono, lounge on the chaise and drink my morning coffee. I can lose hours on the chaise.

The study is also kissed by that morning light, but it’s a brief kiss. The mature oaks standing close to the house that give the room a tree-house feeling in the summer still manage to block most of the morning sun. At sunset, the study glows with the low hanging sunset sauntering in through the room’s one western window. The light is silky amber that compels the room’s furnishings to glow. The grain of the heavy oak twirls and preens while the metal of knobs, handles, stapler and ornaments shimmer. If not for the brevity of a winter sunset, I would lose hours sitting in the study’s outrageously comfortable chair.

The guest bedroom with its one window is the warmest room of the house. After the sun begins it rotation to the west, that room holds the afternoon light in clearly defined beams. The canopy draped over the bed holds the light in a web of glimmer. The bed is like being inside a prism. It’s a glorious place to nap.

In winter, I move room to room to follow the sun – the dressing room for daydreams, the study for deep thoughts and the guest bedroom for illicit naps.

Now and again I think I would love living in a small cottage – less to clean, less to maintain, and less to heat. It would be practical and free up a lot of time. It’s hard to justify one person living in this multitude of rooms.

Ah, but I am a space junkie – usually an unapologetic one. I love all of my single purpose rooms, nooks and crannies. From my son’s old bed tucked underneath the stairwell’s eaves to the tiny book nook under the stairs, each one has not just a purpose, but provides this hedonist with the pleasures of the well-defined ambiance of each.

It is winter and I’m in nesting mode. Besides a thorough cleaning, I plan to use these months to tackle the painting of the stairway and the living room/dining room. These two areas of the house are among those that most irritate my hedonistic self. While I do abhor draperies, I am thinking of installing some in the living room/dining room The planned ambiance of that room may require substantial ones that will wrap around the windows rather than covering them, yet can be pulled closed when winter sneaks up on me. It would be nice to have a winter-livable room downstairs.

Between glorying in morning sun, napping in afternoon sun, and marveling at winter sunsets I’m going to need razor-sharp discipline to excise my predilection for sitting around doing nothing for hours at a time. [I was genetically predestined to be one of the idle rich and something went terribly wrong.]

It will be a war of wills with my hedonist me waging battle with the industrious me. I’m already alternatively nagging and promising my hedonistic self that a few months of industry will provide years of sitting year-round in a room that provides splendid sunlight from noon on. A room for reading and gazing out the atrium doors. A room for fine dining on fine china with friends and family. A room to adore a Christmas tree. And a room to watch summer rainstorms and winter snowstorms. .A room in which the pleasure of those activities is not diminished by the sight of needed work.