The Delightfully Versatile Chandelier

I love this photograph. Have to admit, I know nothing about horses, but I do know that the composition is simply beautiful (good grief, I hope it's real, and not computer generated. If it is, please don't tell me. Bliss and ignorance are my happy spots).

Anyway, the photograph got me dreaming about chandeliers, and how far they have come. Who knew, that something so formal would gradually become the darling of shabby chic decorating?

Originally, they were lit with candles, and were a status symbol of the very wealthy. Massive lead crystal concoctions weighed hundreds of pounds, and were the precious focal point of many family estates. As years went on, the modern life of electric and gas took over, and acrylic would begin to take the place of crystal. They were no longer special, but they were still a required commodity in many new homes.

A victim of excess, they couldn't adapt, and we were trying too hard to make them fit where they didn't belong. The formality seemed hurriedly bought instead of carefully chosen.

Thankfully, this trend didn't last long, and the beauty of the chandelier was found again. More practical this time, it is no longer an uncomfortable status symbol; it has become the perfect accessory to a more realistic way of living. A small touch of luxury for ever style and budget.

To me, the chandelier is best when it is playing with opposites, and not competing. So, if I had a horse and a barn, I would definitely put a crystal chandelier in it. (And, I would hold parties, and sleep there, and look at it shining against the old, wooden beams, and have romantic dinners, and play lots of music, and feel really special .......)

                                                                           
Gorgeous photograph from Casa Sugar

A Wintry Mix

Truth is, I would rather look at snow, than gray dirt and brittle trees, but what drives me crazy is the eternal pile of boots and coats that seem to reproduce by my doorway. I organize them, I really do, and many of them are mine, but there is something about these cold, wet days that make us all so grateful to be inside, that we peel off our clothes (well, sort of) the minute we walk in the door.

Like many of you, I drool over those entrance ways with lots of hooks, and baskets for mittens and boots, but that isn't what I have; I have a front door that opens into my living room. With no apologies, and no place to hide, that is where the wintry pile has to go. So, I accept the small space, do the best I can, and on a good day, it all seems to work.

It's a busy place in Winter, and rarely does it look neat; wire baskets are jumbled with socks and shoes, boots fall in and around their trays, puddles melt into salty shapes, and coats hang crookedly on the back of the door. The only decorative bit is the assortment of vintage umbrellas, because they rarely get used, sitting in my umbrella stand (shaped like an umbrella, of course - one of my favorite things). Mary Poppins moment aside, none of it is perfect, but it is a system of sorts.

Sometimes, I think it is a good lesson in letting go, and slowing down; accepting that some things are out of our control, and a home will be messy if it is truly lived in. A pile of wet gloves could mean that you have been throwing snowballs at a friend, or building an igloo for your dog.

Even if you do have the perfect place (with a bench to sit on while you pull on your boots..sigh..how lovely that would be) it still might not look like the pages of a magazine;  most people have more than one scarf, the little, tiny loop on your coat is made to break after one season, and it takes time and effort to make those boots stand up clean and straight. Time that is often better spent putting on your pajamas, getting warm by the fire, and heating milk for hot chocolate.....
                                                                                                                                                                                                                  
(p.s. Maybe I should take up knitting, and keep my trees warm and colorful during the Winter months). 
This photograph was borrowed from the Urban Cozy Project 

What's in your Cupboard?

Years ago, I asked a friend for a phone number, and she immediately opened her kitchen cupboard. Inside, was what appeared, to me, to be a giant mess of business cards and notes. Not wanting to be rude (but wondering if she was a little disorganized) I asked why she had them all in her cupboard; I was used to seeing nice, empty wooden doors, not ones littered with phone numbers and pieces of tape. But, when she explained, it was one of those crazy light bulb moments, and I totally understood....

Do you know what actually happens to all those business cards and small notes that we need?
a. Neatly transferred into a notebook (3%).
b. Kept in our wallet (16%).
c. Put on the fridge (25%).
d. Thrown away (7%).
e. Somewhere, until we need them, then we forget where they are (49%).

The inside of our kitchen cupboards is actually found Real Estate; prime space for all sorts of things that we need to remember. With a roll of tape, and a few minutes, you will be more organized than you could ever imagine. Phone numbers and notes will be right where you left them, and all you have to do is change them as needed. No damage to your cabinets, no chalk paint, corkboard or fancy systems, just a roll of tape.
Whether you line them up alphabetically, sort them into categories, or plonk them on higgledy-piggledy (my method of choice), they are always there.

I admit, it takes a few days to get used to the inside cupboard door clutter, but you are the only one who knows it is there.......sweetly hidden, just waiting for you to find your favorite phone number!
                                                               
p.s. No actual surveys were consulted in the writing of this blog (percentages were totally made up).

Photograph from House Beautiful

Kitchen Comfort with Sally

Number 59 was my favorite kitchen ever. In the back of a quirky Victorian home in London, it fed every part of my creative being (I just didn't know it at the time). Because it went down a step or two, and had a separate door, it always felt like I was going into another world. In reality, years ago, it was probably the Maid's quarters; a place where they chatted and relaxed after cooking a meal, politely separated from their employers, whispering about the events of the day.

Whenever I opened the door, I didn't go in there to cook, I just wanted to be there; a fireplace, a table, and some squishy armchairs invited me in, and the warm comfort asked me to stay. I can feel the kitchen as I write this, and remember the shape of the chair that I always sat in (if Sally the dog didn't get to it first. I think it was actually hers, she just allowed me to borrow it when she went outside). Through the sitting area was the tiny kitchen, and a door leading out to the back garden. Sunny days led to picking flowers and clothes drying on the line, and rainy ones a cup of tea and a slice of cake.

I baked my first ever Victoria Sponge cake in that kitchen, and had my first cup of Earl Gray Tea (which I still don't like); I felt very grown up when I drank it, knowing it was quite posh, while trying to ignore the perfumed Bergamot that made me almost want to be sick. Even so, making loose tea in a teapot was special, a treat that I never refused (or told anyone that I didn't really like it).

My Auntie cooked and baked all the time, and the kitchen (to me) was the best room in the house. We would wander in after work, poke around the cupboard, grab a chocolate biscuit, collapse in a chair, and tell her about our day. It was warm, and we would always ask what was for dinner, and when would it be ready. She would keep doing whatever she was doing, and she would listen.
Like many mother's, she had learned to let us talk, figuring out our own answers by the time we reached the end of the story. Sometimes, there were no words, just a cup of tea, or a nod of the head. It was a safe place to go; a problem solving kitchen.

On Saturday mornings my Uncle loved to cook. After walking the dog, he would make us the most delicious hot sandwiches, and we would just sit and eat, in yummy silence. (Maybe some people would have a nap afterwards, while the rest of us complained about doing the washing up).
It was a quiet part of the week. Our bellies were full, Monday seemed far away, and I think I was quite lazy. I didn't do my own laundry, but I would happily chat to my Auntie as she folded and ironed for hours on end. I want to believe that she never minded, that she secretly loved the repetition of the iron, and the nice, clean pile of teenage clothes.

Sometimes, it was really hectic, and we would be told to get out of the tiny kitchen; but we never went too far, and we could always curl up with Sally, and wait for things to quiet down.

It wasn't a fancy kitchen. I couldn't tell you if the stove was gas or electric, or what the counter was made of, but I know that it was a true gathering room; a magical place that made you feel warm and welcome, where the people in it were far more important than the things....
                                                                                                 

Paint Matters

Years ago, I fell in love with someone else’s bedroom; the furniture, the simplicity, and the color on the walls were absolutely gorgeous. I had been entertaining ideas of painting my Living Room blue, and had never found the right shade, until that day.

After I stopped gushing, my friend gave me three samples of the blue for me to take home.  Lovely, little pots of promise, just waiting for me to paint with them. As soon as I got in the door I grabbed some giant newsprint (not ideal, but what I had) and painted the colors on several sheets of the paper.

I barely waited for them to dry before I had them taped all over my Living Room. As I stood back, I nearly burst into tears; it was horrible. The gorgeous grey blue that reminded me of a serene retreat in my friend’s bedroom, looked like a hastily thought out, baby boy’s nursery in my own home. The blue was too light, and it just looked cheap and silly. The richness of the color was gone, and all I saw was a bad blue.

You see, the light was totally different; my Living Room is larger, filled with too many things, and has a lot of windows. The warm blue became cooler, more basic, and far less important.

I moved the samples around again, and it just kept looking worse. Even as  a decorator, it was hard for me to accept that the color looked nothing like I had imagined. I thought if I stared at it long enough, it would change, and the room would be just as beautiful as hers. But that didn’t work; I took down the colors, folded up the paper, and frowned.

Am embarrassed to admit, that years ago I would not have taken the color pots. I would have asked her for the color that she used, bought gallons of paint, and been really angry at the manufacturer. Then, I would have either gone and bought more, or, still been disappointed, and continue to paint my walls a color I wasn’t very keen on.

I honestly thought that it was just another marketing tool, to make consumers spend more money. But, when you are faced with millions of different color options (yes, millions) how the heck could you possibly choose just one from a small piece of paper in an artificial environment? Even the natural light in a paint store isn’t natural, and it certainly has no relevance to your home, your windows, and your suede La-Z-boy recliner.

I know that it feels like a lot of extra steps, when all you want to do is paint a room, but it is more than worth the effort. Most custom paint colors can’t be returned, so why would you not take the extra time to get it right. Yes, it is just paint, but there is nothing worse than that awful feeling when you roll on the color, and it looks nothing like you had imagined.

Since my blue experience, I have tried lots of other paint pot colors, but still can’t seem to find the right one. My Living Room is still, a very sedate…. Antique White.

Photograph from Remodelista