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05.17.12

Almost there.

I’m feeling a little bit like this lately with the same happy conundrum that Lucy and Ethel have:  there’s a lot coming down the pike, but  basically, it’s all good stuff.  We’re in the home stretch with the bath remodel project, just wrapped up the yard overhaul (although that is an ongoing project) and are about to embark on an exterior house painting project.  Even though we have hired other people to actually perform the work, these projects have pretty much taken over my grey matter this week and are leaving very little space for thoughts that don’t relate to tile grout, towel bar placement, and whether we’ll soon have a working toilet on the second floor.  I must admit, though, that so far it has been a lot of fun.  Sally and my daughter look out for “the guys” each morning and will likely be bummed out when they wrap things up in the near future.  I’m enjoying it as well, seeing the daily progress and learning details about our house from our contractor who was also our builder and who happened to be the first occupant of the house 25+ years ago.  Being able to ask what this switch goes to or what that hole in the backyard used to be (and to get answers) has been pretty neat.  I also like the fact that “the guys,” regardless of trade, often know one another and many remember being part of the team that built the house.  Small town, small world.

I will be back next week, perhaps with a couple of photos Post-Beigeland or at least with an update.  Until then, I will also be enjoying the sunny respite we’ve had from the cold and the rain.  My four-year old whose memories of steamy Midwest summers are slowly fading has been sweating, panting, and frequently exclaiming:  it is SO hot, Mommy.  (I think we hit 70 degrees once).  I may be guilty of making a similar statement, minus the Mommy part.  I guess you could say we’re all acclimating quite nicely.

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Melisa - May 17, 2012 - 9:17 pm

Love the Lucy and Ethel metaphor! I think partly because, like Lucille Ball, you are a classic. Beauty. And funny as hell. Can’t wait to see the post-pics! xoxo

05.08.12

Big Birthday.

In approximately a month, I will turn forty.  I’m not quite sure why fifty is considered middle-age as I don’t know that many centenarians walking around.  If there were a bunch, Willard Scott wouldn’t be able to do that bit on the Today Show where he honors people like Edna Mae from Georgia or Sylvia Ruth from Kansas who have reached the 100-year milestone.  I’m therefore considering this to be more or less my middle-age birthday, and if the upcoming years turn out to be relatively healthy ones with some good surprises still in store, I could be okay with this.

So you might be wondering what it is I am doing to prepare – planning a big trip, a big party, a big cake – something big?  My husband turns forty ten days before I do, so we are indeed taking a fun trip later in the month, but the partying and cake and such don’t interest me that much.  I’m all for a big party, as long as it’s someone else’s party – being the center of attention makes me break out in a sweat and get all chatty, like I just chugged a whole pot of coffee.  What I have realized, as this birthday date looms in the near distance, is that a big focus of mine has been to get back to my pre-pregnancy weight.  Now this means shedding about five or six final pounds which in my twenties and the better part of my thirties could have been done reasonably easily.  Post-baby and nearing forty, however, I am finding that it means something more like working out to the level of being able to run the circumference of my island, lift a smallish car and do 200 one-armed pushups all while on a kale-chiaseed-flax-almondmilk-quinoa infused reduced calorie diet.  If I had done what I am doing now to get in shape back in my twenties and early thirties, I would have vaporized by now.  Poof! – gone, with nary a dusting of protein powder left in my wake.

It would seem like all of that would be the crazy part, but I have concluded the change in diet and exercise is the least crazy of the whole bit.  What’s crazy is that this goal is not only unreasonable not to mention unkind to myself, but it is based on the entirely false premise that I am the same girl.  As any mom knows, the day you deliver your first baby, you don’t just change or shift a little, you trade in the old you for an entirely new model.  The woman who walks out of the hospital or the birthing center or god forbid the taxicab is a totally different person than the one who entered with the baby still in her belly.  It’s a radical shift, much bigger than going from version 1.0 to 2.0, much bigger than the physical changes that have occurred.  So to aim for my pre-pregnancy weight is to completely ignore the fact that the pre-pregnancy me no longer exists.

When I was young, I can remember a day – the day? – when I noticed my mom’s formerly firm tummy becoming a little softer.  I didn’t notice this on my own, though, I noticed it because she pointed it out, something she would continue to do over the course of my young life.  She constantly berated her physical self which apparently never measured up to the vision she had for it.  Dressing rooms became shame caverns where we’d enter and she’d try on outfit after outfit, speaking unkind words to her reflection which frankly looked more than fine in my (and I would imagine most people’s) opinion.  There were bathing suits purchased to conceal, suck in, and “cover a multitude of sins,” as she would say.  There were even missed outings because of her dislike of an outfit’s ability to adequately portray her as she liked.  And all the while, as I sat there on that chair crammed in the corner of the dressing room, straight pins and fallen tags scattered about on the floor,  I’d think:  no one but you cares.  I never understood her harsh critique of herself and I certainly didn’t understand that it could or should ever prevent her from showing up somewhere, let alone somewhere fun like a beach or a pool.  The multitude of sins she committed weren’t in any eating indiscretions, but in the attempts to hide herself, to live less fully, worse yet in shame, never recognizing her ever-evolving female form.

I have mentioned that I love houses.  I have distinct memories of all of the houses, apartments or condos in which I have lived.  I have a particular fondness for a few and especially the first apartment that I had without roommates, the one that was all mine.  Remember that scene in St. Elmo’s Fire when Mare Winningham’s character tells Rob Lowe’s character that she made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich alone in her new apartment and it was the best peanut butter and jelly sandwich she had ever eaten because she made it in her very own place?  This was that kind of place for me.  It was an old apartment, but it was bright and cheery, painted a soft sunny yellow that made it a happy place, regardless of the weather.  Its bathroom and kitchen showed its age, but in a good vintage-y patina kind of way that made me think about all of the people who had lived there, who cooked and shared meals there, experienced joy and heartache there – lived ordinary everyday big lives right there in my little apartment.  I loved this particular place so much that I used to say goodbye to it when I left each day, awaiting the moment in the evening when I could return to it after a long hard day of teaching middle schoolers.  I loved that apartment not in spite of its age and weathering, but because of it.  That place held me and my twenty-something life within its walls and I loved it for that.

Our bodies are like this, like houses.  They similarly hold the collective sum of all that has happened to us over the years – they are the containers for our lives, so to speak.  My body is partly the physical evidence of my ancestors, the only tangible part of them that will succeed them.  My hands are my grandmother’s and my mother’s, my eyes are my grandfather’s (bad vision and all), my not-quite-curly-not-quite-straight hair, my nice tall height and good teeth – all passed down from people I cherish.  And then there are the things that have happened to me.  My body has given birth, fed a baby in her first year of life, and can awaken from a dead sleep at the tiniest whimper from that same baby, who is now almost five.  My body has traveled to new and foreign lands, can still do a cartwheel and gets the regular joyous opportunity to hug and hold loved ones, friends, and furry companions in its arms.  And for the first forty years of my life, other than an occasional virus or stomachache, my body has been pretty healthy.  I have no aches or pains yet to speak of, and other than contact lenses, I don’t yet need any supporting devices to make it through my day.  Come to think of it, I should be hosting a party to honor my body for getting me this far and affording me all of these experiences instead of reprimanding it for not looking like that girl from years ago who was frankly much better rested and had a lot fewer cares and concerns than the woman who looks back at me in the mirror today.  No wonder the younger me was a little lighter.

When I turn forty, I want to feel strong (and, for the record, I am actually a lot physically stronger than I was five or ten years ago).  I want to focus on who I am now and where I’m going and not on who I used to be or how I used to look.  I want to be grateful for all of the life I’ve lived and continue to be healthy for all that is yet to come.  And I especially never want my daughter to see or hear me being unkind to my physical self – I never want to miss an outing at the beach or the pool because I don’t like the way I look.  One of the great delights of being a parent is to see how fully at home a child is in his or her skin, how aware they are of their physical selves, how much they like what they see.  I ache for the day that will inevitably come when someone convinces my daughter that her physical self is less than perfect, that it is worthy of their judgment or criticism.  I ache even more for the day when that criticism comes from her own harsh words and thoughts about herself.  I won’t add to that by having my big birthday goal be to shed a couple pounds.  I will strive to be healthy throughout the years I have left, and will be sure to include an occasional whoopie pie and martini for good measure.  I don’t think I can commit to another forty without at least a little of that.

So it looks like I will need to create a new goal for these next years.  Hike around Rainier?  Write a children’s book?  Travel to all of the continents?  These goals would seem more fitting and more worthy of my life’s journey than a focus on a losing a measly couple pounds of well-earned weight.   As it turns out, I like who I am, where I’ve been and where I seem to be going, and creating goals to honor that seems like a terrific way to enter the next half of my life.

My mom, at left next to my dad.  She didn’t love this haircut and she probably didn’t think the rest of her looked great, either.  I remember my mom always looking beautiful.
My daughter, age 4, completely enamored of her physical self.
Self portrait, a month shy of forty, straddling the space in between these two magnificent ladies.

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Trish - May 9, 2012 - 11:33 pm

At 43 I can tell you that all those cliches you hear about your 40′s are true. You will love yourself more; be kinder and more accepting to yourself and not care so much what other people think. You will truly come into your own. Be excited about turning 40! It’s fabulous!

Jen Pells - May 9, 2012 - 4:42 am

Hi forty-friend. I have just one more month than you before the big 4-0. I must say this birthday is weighing on me more and more each day. And many of my thoughts echo yours. I too am amazed and blessed that my body can still do those funky moves in our exercise class – and of course I still imagine myself to be 23, dangerous as that may be! Cheers to health and happiness for 40 more :)

Laura White - May 8, 2012 - 6:41 pm

Amy you got it ALL right!! Thanks to you i have tears in my eyes wairing for drs as usual. Just as you did several jobs back:). I see now you need to write, you have a gift. Keep sharing it with yout family and the rest of us. Forty is FABULOUS!!!

Jody - May 8, 2012 - 6:29 pm

Amy, happy *early* birthday, and welcome to the best decade yet…your 40′s! And it goes without saying (but I’ll say it anyway) that time has been good to you since leaving Chicago — your self portrait is beautiful! I love catching up with you via the blog. Stay well. Wolfgang sends his love (and marking) to Sally and the family! xo!

Kate - May 8, 2012 - 2:51 pm

Amy – I love your writing each week and always look forward to a new posting from you. Thank you for writing this…of all days – it was very apropos. I hope that you keep this perspective in the coming month as you join the rest of us in this club of “40″. P.S. I always thought your mom was beautiful – the picture above proves that. You look just like your mom – beautiful as well!

04.25.12

Island-versary

This past weekend, we celebrated two years of living here on Bainbridge Island.  The weather for the weekend was so glorious that it felt like the island was celebrating with us.  It may be gray and wet much of the year, but when the sun comes out, in my opinion at least, there are few places prettier.  The mountains were out, as they say in these parts when it is clear enough to see them, the sky was doing things like this:

and we all responded accordingly and donned our short sleeves, flip flops and even broke out the sunscreen.

The hubby and I kicked off the weekend at a new island restaurant where we had a delicious dinner with wonderful friends who moved to the island just a little before we did.  I should amend my statement to say that I think the dinner was delicious, but we started with these:

and let’s just say that chewing on a pizza box would have sufficed after these bad boys.

In an effort to not offend Mother Nature and her spectacular display, we spent the rest of the weekend outside as much as possible and on Saturday night were treated to dinner at the home of some new friends who are renting a house right on the water.  I haven’t yet had house envy in living here because I love our home so much, but from the moment we knocked on their open dutch door that revealed glimpses of the beach through the back, to the beach walk in which our girls found all sorts of shells and beach glass while the family’s sweet yellow Lab swam in circles searching for thrown bits of driftwood, to the day’s perfect ending of s’mores around a fire pit, sailboats in the background coming in to moor for the evening, I did question our choice not to live on the water.

My husband, caught doing his “dog love” face.

Someday, we’ll talk about my lack of photography skills.  Someday.

As it goes when you have an anniversary of any kind and take the opportunity to reflect on the time between where you were then and where you are now, I started to think about other transitions in my life.  I will sheepishly admit that so far in my life, I have neatly placed events/places/people (maybe just ex-boyfriend people) into two categories:  the “you-are-dead-to-me” category, and the “promised land” category.  And, I’m sure you’re already one step ahead and have figured out that the former category contains all of the places I’ve been and the latter all of the places I’m going.  Perhaps because I’m accruing years at an alarming rate these days, or perhaps the years are actually (finally) bringing with them the wisdom that comes with hindsight, but I’m less comfortable with the dichotomy my usual method of categorization requires.  I used to believe that I could tie up chapters of my life with a tidy little bow and place them on the shelf next to all of the others –  a museum of who I’ve been, meant to be observed and never taken down from the shelf and especially never opened once tied.  I’m learning, though, that it is necessary to open those boxes from time to time, maybe even to take them off the shelf and place them on the coffee table, to be thumbed through like the latest issue of People Magazine.

And so I have been remembering fondly these past two years, but in the context of what I have loved about the many chapters I’ve lived of my life thus far.  While it’s messier than my neat stack of boxes, it’s much more accurate to have my memories about living here jog my memory about living elsewhere – what I’ve loved about all of the places I’ve been and all of the people whom I loved and who loved me back.  I’ve also realized that my “dead to me” category was designed to prevent me from the pain having to reconcile fond feelings for something, some place, some one, along with a nagging tug to move on – in a job, a relationship, to a new city.  So I’m going to share with you my list of why we moved here and how we’re doing so far in ticking off items from that list.  But unlike in past times, I won’t contend that my experiences here are demonstratively better than their predecessors, simply well-suited for the chapter of life I’m currently living.

Here are the reasons we moved here and where we stand on achieving those goals:

1. To spend more time outdoors.

Gardening alone may have allowed me to meet this requirement.  The mild climate helps, too, even with the rain.  Just like everyone told us before we moved here, it’s misty a lot of the time and you pretty much ignore it.  We bought us some good gear and you can definitely find us outside way more than we were back east.

2. For The Bug (our nickname for our daughter) to have an outdoorsy childhood.

My kiddo’s preschool looks like this:

She rides horses, plants vegetables, swims weekly and has there cultivated a love for worms and roly poly bugs.  I knew it was a good sign when I read a Richard Louv (author of “Last Child in the Woods”) quote on the school’s website.  This place believes in kids being kids and in kids being very dirty kids by the end of the day.

Outside of school, our outings include quick trips to the beach or climbing trees in our yard.  Her biggest concerns at four and a half include being chased by raccoons and/or other misc. wildlife.  When a family friend passed away at the age of 90, she asked in all seriousness if he had been eaten by a wild animal.  Each day, I dump out approximately one cup of dirt and wood chips from each of her boots and I must check her pockets for wildflowers, shells and small sea life before throwing clothing items in the wash.

I think we’re making progress on the outdoorsy thing.

 

3. For my Sally to have a similarly outdoorsy doghood.

I have mentioned before that Sally’s life may have been slightly better in the city.  I do miss the sidewalks for walks and seeing at least one dog friend on each walk.  It may sound crazy to a non-dog owner, but if you have a dog, you know that they do develop friendships, and my Sally definitely had her favorites.  We miss Oscar, Wolfgang, Max, Stanley and Toby – a lot.  On the upside, in place of Sal’s dog buddies, we have gone on more adventures together out here because the West seems to be so darned dog-friendly.

Sally and Max in Chicago at one of Sally’s birthday parties (note boa).

Sally at the Tulip Festival in the Skagit Valley.

4. To have many varied opportunities for adventure within an easy day’s drive.

Our love for Door County, Wisconsin (one of the few places we did go within an easy drive of Chicago and where my husband’s family owns a vacation home) was pretty much what drove us to seek a place that looked like Bainbridge Island, but where we could actually find jobs to allow us to live there.  We’d be Wisconsinites if we could have made living there work.

 Sal loves it in Door County.  LOVES it.

D.C. sunsets.  Magic.

Out here, we’ve done a lot of local exploring on our island (of which there is still a lot more to explore), we’ve visited Whidbey Island, Port Townsend, Sequim, the Methow Valley, Leavenworth, the Skagit Valley, Victoria B.C., Portland, Seattle (of course) and lots of little places in between.  It’s exciting to think that we can drive down to California or to Idaho or Montana like many people here do.  Many more boxes to check in the upcoming years.

Tulip Festival.

Port Townsend Annual Wooden Boat Festival.

A lavender farm in Sequim.

5. To have hobbies other than eating and that promote a healthy lifestyle.

We still love to eat, but we are somewhat less excited to seek out the latest greatest new restaurant and more inclined to cook at home and have friends over to share a meal with us.  I do have my Chicago favorites that I have thought of on more than one occasion, like this place for cupcakes, this place for general laid-back awesomeness (someone please open a Bainbridge version of Uncommon Ground), this place for my favorite pizza ever (prosciutto arugula, please), and this place because not only was the food great, but because with a good push, I could have rolled out my front door to get there and if Micci the waitress saw us walk by, she’d come running out to see The Bug and Sally and to shower them with adoration.

Aside from the whole eating thing, we are making progress on the healthier lifestyle.  Outings now include hikes in the Grand Forest, biking to and from the ferry (for the hubby), walks to the beach and weekends spent in pursuit of the adventures listed in #4. Oh, and for the most part, the more senior folks on the island are in killer shape, so there is a saving face element to it all that I’m not too proud to admit.  There is a power yoga class here that is heavily populated by sexagenarians that I am simply not ready for…yet.

The Grand Forest.

6. To enjoy a slower pace of living.

This is simply a product of town/country living.  I am learning that we’re more country for the bulk of the time with occasional needs for town.  I had always thought of my needs as the opposite.  I’d say that I miss the culture of the city, but we have our own theater here, we’re building a new art museum, the library kicks a$# and there are more special programs and events than we’d ever be able to exhaust.  And perhaps because I’m a mom now and my needs are different, I enjoy all of the culture (not just the Culture) of the charming island events, like this upcoming weekend’s Huck Finn/Becky Thatcher Day, Harvest Fair, the Pumpkin Walk, the pancake breakfast at the fire house and so on.

Harvest Fair, my favorite island event.

And so, on my Island-versary, I’m feeling pretty grateful for having the opportunity to live here in this place that suits me so well at this phase of my life with all of my current goals and desires.  I’m also recognizing that I can’t separate my now from my then, the lines are too blurry to make a clear distinction and without them I would have no way of getting my bearings.  I do know, in this my fortieth year, that I am ever-aware that it all counts, that nothing really was or ever can be dead to me (eighties hair included).  Here’s to it all - Happy Island-versary!

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Little Blue Journal - May 16, 2012 - 1:28 am

Hi Dave – Glad the blog is helpful! The friends who are renting are in the place indefinitely until their jobs force them to relocate (sorry!). As far as rentals go, I know there are a lot of listings on VRBO and I know that real estate agents also have some of that info because a lot of folks end up renting for a short bit while they are looking for a permanent home. I will happily plug our agent, Jen Pells, as she was wonderful! Hope you enjoy your summer here and I hope my blog continues to offer you good local info.

DaveP - May 15, 2012 - 8:54 pm

Came upon your blog while googling bainbridge. My wife, kids, and I are looking to spend a summer on bainbridge. Your blog is a great resource already! In this post, you mentioned your new friends who are renting a house on the water. That sounds like what we are planning either this summer or next. Any chance you could send me information on that rental – or something nearby? Thanks!

Trish - April 25, 2012 - 9:52 pm

The Harvest Fair is my favorite island event, too!

04.19.12

My top 10 design “little t” truths.

I’d love to tell you that so much has happened since I last wrote, but things continue to be a bit slow.  I have been wearing my Mommy-nurse hat quite a bit in the past week and a half and have also been flying solo as my husband has been traveling here, there and everywhere for work.   We’re in more of an ebb than a flow right now.

For the past two days, the garden warriors (as I like to call them) were here readying our garden for the growing season.  Aside from the fact that I do believe we just spent my daughter’s first year of college tuition on having it done (sorry, honey), it looks pretty wonderful.  Once the warriors left, I went around with my camera and took photos of every inch of the garden like this:

Okay, you get the gist.

I want to remember what it looks like when it looks this good, and I also need a visual reminder of what is supposed to be growing and where.  One thing gardening continually reminds me is that living things have a voracious desire to propagate themselves – life simply wants to be…and to continue to be, even in spots where you don’t want it.

The upside of all of this time spent in the garden (I did a ton of weeding before the warriors arrived) is that I had forgotten how nice it is to be forced outside on a regular basis.  It is all too easy to hole up in the abode and just admire the outside in the way one would a nice oil painting, but when you are required to be out in it, to touch it and to tend to it, it is an altogether different experience.  It’s also a different perspective on the same space, like when you stand on a chair to change a lightbulb and look around to see that the room you stare at each and every day looks completely different from this vantage point.

I have this impossibly difficult vegetable gardening book that like many I own purports itself to be for ‘beginners,’ but is really instead for the West Coast throngs born with an innate knowledge of horticulture that I simply do not possess.  Anyway, before completely abandoning this garden tome, I did find one passage I really liked where the author talked about how nice it is while gardening to stop for a moment, to lean on one’s hoe, and to just be in the garden, to take it all in.  This Saturday, I took a few breaks to lean on my (symbolic) hoe to notice the hawks soaring overhead, the songbirds pecking their little staccato pecks all around the garden’s perimeter, my dog splayed in a full body sun-drenched sprawl, and my four-year old covering herself with dirt and mud to “cool off like the rhinos do.” (It was a balmy 58 degrees, for the record).

I’ve been taking a few breaks to lean on my hoe on the inside of the house, too.  All of this design planning with our bathroom fix-up and in choosing the new exterior paint colors has made me a little wistful for my design days of yore.  (The elapsed time doesn’t quite qualify as yore; I just like to say yore).  And in taking a moment to pause and ponder, I’ve been remembering the themes that would come up over and again in working with clients.   I’d venture to say that just as much as the design itself, I loved talking with people about the notion of home and what really makes a house a home.  Some of the themes I recalled were practical and others were slightly more philosophical. But here, to alleviate some wistfulness, I will share with you in no particular order, ten of my “little t” truths and advice on design and making a house a home:

1. Oprah has that saying, “your home should rise up to meet you.”  I adore Oprah, but I’m not totally sure what this means.  If I had a mantra like this, it would be:  ”your home should delight you.”  Each morning in the instant that my foot hits the bottom step and I take in the panorama of exterior views and interior punchy colors that is my home, I get a rush of delight.  This is what I’m after and what I would hope for you, too.

2. If your home should rise up to meet someone, I think perhaps it should be your guests.  I suggest creating a home that is welcoming to others, where they feel relaxed and comfortable but also special – like they would in a nice hotel where the little details weren’t overlooked – not precious, not perfect, but welcomed.

3. My best practical design tip that doesn’t cost a cent?  Turn off the overhead lighting.  I repeat:  turn off the overhead lighting.  I can’t say this enough.  Use soft accent lighting instead of harsh overhead lights.  Put all of your overheads on dimmers if you must use them.  When you have people over, seriously, turn off the overheads.  They are stark, impersonal, cast bad shadows and make your guests feel like they are in the spotlight, especially during a dinner party.  Side lamps and small task lights are warm and inviting and cozy, everything a home should be.  Leave the overheads to the malls and Taco Bell.

4. Display your jar of pickles.  I did a really fun project for a client who is also a friend.  We made some major changes on a pretty strict budget and got great results.  One of my favorite things I remember from that project, though, was the little goofy jar of pickles that she put on a shelf as a little objet.  It was a gift from her grandfather and reminded her of her childhood.  A couple of my own jars of pickles that aren’t really design-y, but always make me smile:

This was my grandfather’s (the martini and Oreo grandfather).  I believe it was used in conjunction with the sign that said “Pool” with an arrow pointing to the neighbor’s pool.  Or maybe it was with the sign that said “This here’s the Library.”  Can’t remember, but it makes me think of my goofy Opa, his joie de vivre and whimsical approach to life .

This was on my grandparents’ fridge when I was a kid.  It still applies, or at least that’s what I tell myself in a Stuart Smalley-like way.

5. Read design magazines and blogs in small doses.  I find that I can be whipped into a design frenzy when I look at too many shelter mags or spend too much time on design blogs.  For me, it’s the equivalent of thumbing through too many fashion magazines – I not only get a bad case of the wants, but I start playing that very dangerous game of things will be perfect when…  Ah, this house will be finished when I wallpaper the powder room, swap out the countertops, find a table for that vacant corner  - just like things will be perfect when I lose five pounds, cut my hair and get that new pair of boots.  I love the mags for ideas and visual inspiration, but when I find myself creating a mental shopping list that far exceeds a reasonable budget or is laden with items I just discovered in the past two hours but can’t imagine my life without, I slowly put down the House Beautiful, back out of the room, and take a walk.

6. Own it. Cultivate your unique sense of style and then be confident about it.  I worked with a lot of people who claimed they had no sense of what they liked, but that’s really never true.  You can always go through a magazine and point to what you like and don’t like.  I think what my clients were really saying was:  please tell me what my style should be.  What am I supposed to like so that my home looks appealing to everyone else?

I did a consultation once for a lovely woman who lived right in the heart of Chicago in a great neighborhood in a midrise condo.  I didn’t share her taste at all, but I completely got the look she had cultivated and loved the fact that she loved it.  She just needed a little help with furniture arrangement and proportion and where to go to find a few accent pieces she was seeking.  Just like a woman of a certain age with her own sense of style, this lady owned her look and didn’t try to jump on the latest trend bandwagon for the look of the moment.  As evidenced by the fact that I remember her place so well, my advice is to follow suit and find your own look and stick to it.  If you own it, your confidence will translate and people will feel comfortable in your space.  It might not be their style, but it shouldn’t be – it should be all you.

7. Don’t have an end in mind.  I have to continually remind myself of this.  Not only does it suck the fun out of the whole design process (which really should be fun and never a chore), it forces you to become too goal-oriented and to ignore all of the little changes you should be appreciating along the way.  You could wish your entire life away if you adopt this philosophy in the broader sense.

8. It doesn’t have to cost a lot of money.  I know everyone says this, but I really do believe it’s true.  Yes, it makes sense to invest in the big items that you will have for a long time.  If you get them in the form of hand-me-downs or snag them at a resale shop – all the better.  If you’re at all like me, though, you feel much more proud of the things that you painted yourself, found at a flea market, or snagged at IKEA than you do of the things you spent a bundle on.  Anyone can throw money at a problem, but finding a creative low-cost solution is just. so. satisfying.

9. (Only read this one before getting a new place).  Consider buying a smaller place.  I don’t say this to be preachy, to further an environmentalist agenda, nor to rob my real estate friends of their commissions, but…many times I worked with clients who had spent their entire budget on buying a house they then couldn’t afford to decorate.  Yes, per #8, you can save money in a lot of ways, but it will take some money, and probably more than you think.  Much like bad overhead lighting, nothing says uncozy like a room with no furniture.

10. No one cares but you.  Other than the overhead lighting (one last plug), no one really cares whether your place is clean, perfectly decorated, of-the-moment, vintage, cool, hipster, modern, post-modern, mid-century modern – whatever.  Really, they don’t.  I know that’s a funny thing to say from someone who earned a living from making people’s spaces all of those things, but I really do believe that what happens inside a home’s walls is all that truly counts, the rest is beautifully colored, wallpapered, and delightfully arranged gravy.  As my four-year old just informed me after being told by a classmate that she couldn’t come over to play because the friend’s house was too messy, “it shouldn’t matter that your house is messy; we’ll have fun anyway.”  Pretty much sums it up.

Okay.  That’s all I have for now.  What are your “little t” truths on making a house a home?  In the meantime, I am off to lean on my hoe and make sure no weeds have reared their little heads in the past three hours.  You think I’m kidding…

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Julie - April 20, 2012 - 3:14 am

As a friend and former client, I loved this entry. So timely for us, too, as we’re in the middle of a basement reno, too. I loved everything you had to say, except for maybe buying a smaller house (less than one full bathroom? please, no……)

Trish - April 19, 2012 - 9:27 pm

Thank you for #10. As you know, I’m having a little jewelry party in a couple weeks and all I can think is: “My floors are filthy!” “The walls are covered in greasy kid finger prints!” “We need to finish painting!” “There is nothing on the walls!” “I need furniture!” I’m going to remember, no one cares. And? I’ve got wine so you all won’t notice.

Rosalind Bordo - April 19, 2012 - 9:00 pm

Such great advice as I sit here simultaneously trying to finish my nursery decor and think about decor for our new house in Toronto! (with pickle jar proudly displayed! :)

04.11.12

Lately…

Things have been sloooow around here lately.  Last week was Spring Break, which for us meant one family member traveling for work and two others here at home, on an island, where everything typically open for families was closed.  Where I grew up, we didn’t have Spring Break, we had a couple days off for Easter vacation.  So while my expectations for such a week weren’t to travel to a tropical paradise, I was surprised at how my usual options had dwindled to taking walks with Sally and…well, that was about it.  We did luck out with a gorgeous Easter weekend which was perfect for egg hunts, social gatherings and remembering what it feels like to open the windows and go outside without a jacket.  And that, truthfully, was just about as nice a treat as I could have hoped for.

You may remember, too, that we are about to begin two big-ish design projects, one of which is starting soon.  I haven’t told you a lot about our house out here or what we’ve already done and what we hope to do.  Rather than giving you a long drawn-out background story, I’ll just try to catch you up as we go, giving you any details pertinent to whatever we’re currently working on.  Deal?

So the room we’re about to jazz and snazz is our main upstairs bathroom.  The house has one full bath on the first floor and another on the second.  There isn’t technically a “master” bath, but this one is kind of it.  Anytime you have to share your bathroom with your little munchkin, I do believe you are disqualified from calling it a master bath.  Now because we haven’t talked too much design and because we’re meeting after I’ve put my design career on hold, there are a few tidbits I must share with you.  I already told you here how I have a hard time fixing things that don’t need to be fixed.  When I worked with clients, it was always way more fun for me to work with what they already had or to figure out how to salvage, paint or otherwise fix what was already in place.  Of course, my philosophy is the same in working on my own space.  Actually, my requirements are more stringent because unlike my usual projects, I will have less money in the bank after this one and not the other way around.

Because none of this means anything without seeing what we’re changing, I give you…Beigeland:

Am I the only one who remembers these ads?  I hope not, because I often refer to brown interiors, boring subdivisions, and plates of fried food as Beigeland.  And wouldn’t you know it?  My bathroom is the capital of Beigeland.  *(Disclaimer statements 1 and 2:  #1 – This bathroom is not that bad.  In fact, I have a hard time making fun of it after watching Slumdog Millionaire and being reminded of how the better part of the world uses the loo, and #2 – This bath is a pretty easy fix.  When we looked for our condo in Chicago, one had a full-on Egyptian-themed bath with black tub, toilet, sink, gold fixtures and a pyramid mural. That, my friends, was going to require some fixin’).  What you might not be able to see in the photos is that someone along the line painted everything the same color as the almond/bisque-colored shower enclosure, so that perhaps your eye would be fooled and you wouldn’t notice it:  Bath-Camo.  When we first moved in here, I thought we’d swap out the lights, add a fresh coat of paint and make a shower curtain to hide the dated enclosure.  But as it goes with projects like these, once you make the decision to change a little of this and a little of that, you open that proverbial can of worms.  And instead of a simple cosmetic fix, we decided to go a little bit further – a bit more than a baby step, but no giant leaps here.

Here are the things I’m most excited to fix:

1. That shower enclosure.  Not a huge fan of enclosures in general, and after two homes with glass shower doors, I’m done with sitting in the tub and having a visual show-down with the mildew jammed into all of the crevices of the shower track.  And for the record, yes, I now take baths because (and this will soon be on my list of Island Curiosities) one must take a warm-up bath out here when you get chilled to the core and nothing will warm you except submerging yourself for at least 25 minutes in a hot tub of water.

2. The light fixtures.  I appreciate that one owner along the way decided to change the finish on the fixtures from brass to nickel, (although brass is having a big comeback right now).  However, painting the fixtures a silver-ish color didn’t quite cut the mustard.  Strong effort; lacking on the execution.  Kind of hard to see in the photos, but trust me on this one.  A nice shot, however, of the beige ceiling:

3. The toilet.  You know it’s bad when your kid goes to someone else’s house and gets excited about their beautiful clean white potty.  Having toilet envy is not a good thing.

4. The general beigey-ness. I am a lover of color.  Scratch that – I derive immense pleasure from color.  When we moved into this house, I tried for about fourteen minutes to consider going with a neutral scheme accented with bright colors here and there (a la Wisteria or the interiors showcased in the now defunct (sniff sniff) Cottage Living).  But alas, my leanings are more Jamie Drake and Amanda Nisbet than Thomas O’Brien, so I had to go a little beyond a few color accents.  I won’t be changing the walls to fuchsia (I’m exercising restraint), but the beige is sucking the life out of this room.

Now any design blogger would know to not do a post about the crummy before pics without the big reveal.  But remember, I write about dogs and my island and life, so please forgive me.  Like me,  you will have to wait a couple weeks until the tub comes in and I can show you how it all starts coming together.  And then we’ll be ready to embark on our next project and I’ll tell you all about that, too.

Until then, I must go tend to my little one who is on day three of some virus that has made us home bound for the better part of the week.  Ah, the fits and starts of Spring.  That is what’s been going on around here lately.

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