Formal Living?............No Problem!

A prospective client, asked if she could look at my home before I came to hers. Later, as we drank cups of tea in my living room, she told me that she didn’t think I could decorate her house. Her husband was not into “shabby chic”, and she worried that her home would be too formal for me to work with. I hastily told her that if I redesigned her house it would not be a reflection of my style, it would be her belongings that I would be working with. She still wasn’t sure.

A year later, after many cups of tea, we put the finishing touches on her newly decorated home. We joined my ideas with her style, we found the perfect balance for her home, together.

Honestly, most of the homes I go to are more formal than mine, the most common complaint being that they are not “comfortable” enough. The rooms are generally avoided until they are pushed into use for the Holidays, or some other special family occasion.

If your home is unhappy in its formality, don’t run screaming into a casual direction. All it may need are a few personal touches, and, more often than not, a little imperfection to welcome people in. Maybe a lamp that doesn’t quite match, or an interesting collage of photos on the wall (instead of an unsteady selection on a side table, poised to fall over at the slightest movement). People can be intimidated by the thought of having to move a pillow, or put a drink down where there is no coaster. Make them feel that it’s ok to sit down and read a magazine, that you care more about their comfort than the way your home looks. It can be as simple as moving the furniture into a more cozy arrangement or, add some humor with a little gnome unexpectedly tucked between your crystal glasses.

Formal beauty does not have to be sacrificed for comfort, the combination, in fact, can be quite magical!

Not Just For Squirrels

I turned the heat on the other night. I wasn't proud of it, but unexpected cold temperatures and a rainy day made me want to hibernate under a blanket with hot chocolate and a years supply of books and magazines (or, even better, Project Runway and Design Star on the television). I wasn't ready for the cold. My flip-flops were still by the door, and my skin was still brown from too many days without SPF700.

But, here it is, Fall, Autumn, whatever you like to call it, attacking us with no warning in mid-September. Temperatures that soared up to a 100 Fahrenheit (37 Celsius) a week or two ago, have now plummeted to around 50 Fahrenheit (10 Celsius) at night.The annual flowers are struggling, and this morning I watched my daughter walk to school on frost-bitten grass. Sneakers soaked, she was happy to kick at the wet ground seeing the patterns that they made.

Here, where I live, the seasons are very defined. I find myself looking forward to the next one just as I get tired of the one that I am in. But, no matter how many time it happens, it always takes me a while to transition. For several weeks I demonstrate confusion; a coat with a summer skirt or flip-flops in the rain. I often feel displaced and unhappy that I have to adjust my lifestyle once again to follow the changing weather patterns.

When I look outside I see that the world is so much more organized than I am. Weeks ago, I noticed squirrels with acorns and chestnuts in their mouths, deer eating the plants as if it could be their last meal; they had a purpose, they were getting ready, they know that Winter is not far away, they know what they are supposed to do.

My garden has that worn look that tells me it is tired and ready to be pruned; the weeds are in full glory, and the roses are loving the colder weather that lets them bloom more brightly and longer than usual (no surprise that the English-grown roses are far more beautiful than mine).

When I look at the garden, and the natural evolution of the seasons, I wonder at myself. Why does it take me so long to accept the reality of the seasons? Is it denial, a resistance to change, or is it just a blind optimism that things go on forever? Regardless, it is here and I being pushed to embrace the colder weather.

We carved pumpkins the other day. Early, I know, but my goddaughter is staying with us, and she had never carved one before. When we had finished, we put candles inside them and placed them on the step to be admired. Despite my initial reluctance, it was a welcome shot of color in my nearly spent garden. Looking at them made me happy. I instantly found myself glad for a new excuse to redecorate the front of the house; ideas were forming in my head, and I wanted to go outside at that moment to see what I could do to make it look pretty for the next couple of months.

Inside my house, I am making it feel more cozy; swapping bowls of shells for buttons, and layering quilts and blankets wherever someone may want to sit and put their feet up. Tomorrow I'll prune the plants and move my favorite geraniums in from the sun-room. I'll get the snow-blower checked and stock up on salt for those icy days. Try on Winter coats, hats and boots. Drink hot cider and eat apples (or maybe just apple donuts).
Admire the organization of the squirrel...

Something Old, Something New...

Anyone who comes to my house knows that, if possible, we will sit in the sun room. It's my favorite room; I love feeling like I am outside, while still being protected from the weather. Even at the worst of times, my garden energizes me, it reminds me of how lucky I am to be able to sit and watch the natural world go on around me.

That being said, the table in the sun room is surrounded by wonderful, old folding chairs. They are about 50 years old, folding in and out of zig-zag shapes; sometimes it takes time just to figure out how to open them. Age and paint have made them look equally charming (my words) and disgusting (a dear friend's). Because of their age, they are very small. The seat barely 12 inches square. However, with my ample bottom I know they are far more comfortable and sturdier than they look. Despite their look, lead paint chips do not attach themselves to your clothes, and they do not collapse at the slightest glance. I sit on them all the time. I work out there sometimes and I often sit at the table for hours, writing or dreaming of what I am going to do next.

The last week or so we have had several people over for dinner. Each time, as we go to sit down at the table, I see the sideways glances of the adults. Looking at the old, wooden chairs, trying to decide which would be the safest (and cleanest) one to sit on. I always laugh, and show people the chair that I think suits them the best. One of them is covered in layers and layers of very old green paint. I often approach the chair, with new paint or polyurethane, but I just can't do it. The paint tells it's story and I didn't want to erase that part of it. Sometimes, noticing their hesitation, I would run and get the chairs from the dining room and bring them out for us to sit on. But, last week I knew it was time to face reality. Three dinners in a row, with friends and family, convinced me that making my guests uncomfortable, time after time, was not worth me sacrificing function for character.

I don't like to buy new furniture (unless I really have to), so it was with a lot of reluctance that I went looking for chairs. Many hours later I came home with dark red, outdoor, wicker dining chairs that I had fallen in love with. Of course, they needed some tweaking once I got home (ie. redecorating the entire room around their red "newness"...) but as I see them, settled, in the room, I know it was the right decision.

Honestly, in hindsight, I was just being stubborn. The romantic beauty of the old chairs had captured my heart. The truth had become blurry, and I couldn't admit that it was time to let them go..........

p.s. I'm not really letting them go. They are going into my office where I can still sit on them. I love them so.