The STUFF Sisters - Decorating

Classy

Several days ago, while walking through the living room on my way to my bedroom, something caught my eye. New art in the living room …

A well-appointed home makes room for painter’s tape and Scotch tape.

My husband and I have lived in our historic home for over twenty-five years. We have started and completed many projects, with and without help. Early in our time here, we did most of the work ourselves. Plaster repair, painting, wall-to-wall carpet removal, flooring repair. We have light skills in electrical and plumbing. Continue reading “Classy”

Pumpkin Spice

The picturesque mascot of all things fall makes me abundantly happy.

Truth: I do not like pumpkin spice anything. Except I do like the spices I mix into the pumpkin pies I make from scratch at Thanksgiving. I like pumpkin pie. I like pumpkin pie with whipped cream, to be precise.

Larger Truth: I love pumpkins. Un-spiced. Big Love. This fruit of the gourd family and the picturesque mascot of all things fall makes me abundantly happy. That’s saying something, because I am a summer person through and through.

Continue reading “Pumpkin Spice”

Behemoths and Mach Speed

Our son has been back in New Jersey, where he goes to college, since mid-June. He was home briefly for deep sleep, a little touch of his old life, and a thrilling one-time experience.

Our son has been back in New Jersey, where he goes to college, since mid-June. He was home briefly for deep sleep, a little touch of his old life, and a thrilling one-time experience. It was a month just like any other – it moved slowly for the first few days and then just went way too fast.

He has an internship at his university this summer and is loving every minute of it. When we talk on the phone on Sundays, I can hear the smile in his voice as he tells me about the past week and snippets of his weekend. He loves what he’s doing, and he loves being “in the City” for the summer. The campus is quieter, but New York is seven minutes away when he gets off work.

In my time after work and on my vacation, I have continued to make plans for recovering parts of our home that had been dedicated to his upbringing. One of those rooms is one we referred to as “Dakota’s Playroom” when he was a young child and “Dakota’s Sitting Room” when he was in high school. The air hockey table is still in the center of the room, but his desk is near the window where he sat every night for the four years of high school and plowed through homework.

This air hockey table is now doing double duty as the table for LEGO creations left by our young man. The behemoth was carefully covered with a custom cotton sheet to protect the little tiny air holes from becoming clogged with the dust that settles when children move along. A constant and huge reminder of the quickness of childhood and lazy days, it has seen little use for years.

For the past several weeks, I have been churning over in my head my plans for this room’s next incarnation. It has a fireplace in it that has not seen a flame or log in twenty years. Parental exhaustion and limited time are the culprits. The nightly rushes toward a child’s bedtime did not make for the quiet caring that a fire demands. Peace and quiet and a slightly slower pace have just come back in style around here.

Last night, I began the reclamation of at least the desk, knowing that, if I can get through that, the rest will fall into place. Its surface has remained strewn with his keepsakes and treasures for the past year. Almost a year ago, I ceased crying every time I walked by this museum of study. These are daily journeys, and the dust got deeper and deeper as I was still unable to really move anything.

It’s now empty, the desk. Nothing went in the trash can, but all was thoroughly dusted and either placed neatly in the drawers of the desk or taken down the hall to his bedroom and placed on shelves and dresser tops. Tear-free, I moved silently through the task, only stopping occasionally to answer the dog’s questions about particular placement.

Tear-free. Well, for over one hour.

Completely done and turning to change clothes in an adjoining room, I saw the air hockey table and the LEGOs. I had the common sense to not use the cotton rag saturated with Pledge to wipe my eyes.

That’s what trashed out tee shirts are for, and I was handily inside one. They quietly soak up memories of long afternoons of “competitions” between a short young man and his taller mother. During back-to-back games, I worried constantly about him losing teeth as I gently pushed that floating puck towards him. How horrible, I thought, if it jumped that one inch barrier and took out all his front teeth? How will I explain this to every one, especially his father? He won constantly, because he didn’t care how hard he hit it back in my direction. He was looking for mach speed. I was always a little too slow in my reactions to his amazing force.

The air hockey table and the LEGOs are to be dealt with next. The LEGOs have found a permanent home in my mind’s plans for the room. The air hockey table will be finding a new home outside of these walls.

Damn. Nineteen years flew by. One competition, one night of homework, and one LEGO creation at a time.

p.s. All photos in this post were taken in the short time he was home this summer. The one below was captured at the airport when we sent him back East, just minutes before a torrential downpour inside my car. It passed like summer rain, and I quickly dried my face and turned the car toward home.

Missing Persons

I am not a total slacker. I decorated for Christmas. Admittedly, the other holidays are seeing a marked reduction in decoration of the home.

I used to decorate for every holiday. Valentine’s. Easter. Fourth of July. Halloween. Thanksgiving. Of course, Christmas. This was when we had a young child at home. I am not sad about not having the child at home. I am a bit sad about not seeing the things that others gave me throughout the years to decorate with.

One was my dad’s mother. If there was ever a woman on this planet that loved to celebrate every little thing, it was my grandmother. She was not a wealthy woman, and many of her decorations were tissue and, in particular, honeycomb and cardboard shapes. Turkeys. Eggs. Pumpkins. Five-and-Dime treasures. At the end of the “season” they were delicately folded back down and clipped shut with plastic-covered steel paperclips. I inherited a turkey and a baby chick. Both have very little wear and tear from over 50 years of use. One, the turkey, sports a 29-cent price sticker on the inside.

I have to admit that only one item for Valentine’s Day has made it out of the box this year, and that is the hand-worked and painted heart that I love hanging on the front door. It made it out a few days ago. I didn’t have the energy to pull out the other favorites. Too tired from a business trip, I promised myself next year would be different.

When it comes to the mid-winter holiday of Valentine’s Day, both of my parents embraced it to its fullest. Little keepsakes and sweet bites. Dainty bouquets. Notes of love and sweet cards. Small silly gifts. Any and all of the above was pretty normal when we were kids and young adults. My mother still is amazing at giving little gifts of love on a day that can seem unimportant and contrived. She reminds us every year that we are “still kids.” To her.

Valentine’s Day can be just a spot of fun in a winter that is often all too drab in the Midwest. I sent little gifts to my nieces in Chicago this week. Our son will be receiving his mail delivery from home with a few extras stuck in to remind him that he is adored. We will eat heart-shaped pizza with my mom and my other niece on the “big day.”

I will miss my grandmother. She, like the others, is a missing person on these days. I was lazy to not get out the plastic straws she gave me right after our son was born. I am certain of that. They are bendy (her favorite kind of straw) and look like stacked conversation hearts (a favorite holiday candy). I can only imagine that the combination of the two was a no-brainer when she saw them. I carefully washed them every year after our son used them and then packed them away. Last year saw them in a small glass vase sharing their bright perkiness when I entered the partially dark kitchen on my way to work every morning.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

p.s. Featured in all the photos are items we are selling at our store this year. My grandmother would have loved them all. I am giving a few myself to ones I love. It’s how I was raised….

p.p.s. I am not a total slacker. I decorated for Christmas. Admittedly, the other holidays are seeing a marked reduction in decoration of the home.

Packing It All Away

I was packing the last two boxes of holiday decorations. I save the packing of the ornaments for last. They usually come off the trees on a Sunday, migrate to the dining room table for removal of the hooks, and, a few days later, I start putting them back into the tissue paper they hailed from just a month and a half before.

I was putting the finishing layers – three per box – into both boxes at once and said to my husband and son, “If I dropped dead tomorrow, you guys would never open these again, would you?” They were only one room away, clicking busily on their computers, when the dove-tailed answers hit. “No.” Maybe one of them mumbled, “Probably not.”

These boxes hold memories. When I unpack them right after Thanksgiving, they rest on the dining room table – out of their protective wraps – while I stare at them and repair unglued joints. I remember tiny hands that made some, and this year I revisited memories of a long gone sister and the two things I have that she made as a child. I walk leisurely down memory lane during the busiest month of my year.

A few days later, when the three of us go to hang them all, I take a few minutes to point out several to my son that have real significance – my grandmother’s stitches, my great-aunt’s crochet work, his grandfather’s paint strokes, and his aunt’s ability with clay. I try not to overwhelm and have learned that four shout outs one night a year is the maximum for possible retention.

I don’t really know if the boxes would ever be opened by the two men I live with. A woman would open them if left in her care. She would wait a year. Or more. Then, one cold morning, she would brace herself with a box of tissues and her courage and rip those suckers open. She would visit each piece like a tongue lingers on tooth pain. Delicately, so as not to wince, moan or cry out.

I packed it all away. Again. The entire process is cathartic to me. I have many people to visit with at my dining table all year long at a myriad of events, celebrations and holidays. But the places and the people I can’t have back come delicately to me in December in the form of pinecones, angels, dogs, and snowmen. I touch them all. Hang them up to breathe. Live with them. Then, I let them go.

p.s. Full disclosure: This is not our tree featured with my son and me in the photo. This tree graces the lobby at The Rep every year during the seasonal run of “A Christmas Carol”. We visit it.

Waves

I tore this image from a magazine last week. Sadly, I don’t remember which magazine, so I can’t give credit to them for featuring this nifty room.

I tore this image from a magazine last week. Sadly, I don’t remember which magazine, so I can’t give credit to them for featuring this nifty room. I pulled it because I really like the wave painting.

I would have wanted the bench to face the painting, but often that doesn’t work in homes. I often have that challenge in my home.

I would like to own a piece of this artist’s work. Maybe I will come across the artist one day.

Meanwhile, I will just have to enjoy having this in one of my many scrapbooks.

Twice

When you tear out TWO pages from the SAME magazine for an item you like, should it go to the top of your wish list?

Scan_20120309154301_3 — The tempting piece.

: Elle Decor magazine page 30.

: Elle Decor magazine page 58.

What was humorous to me was that I was going to write a blog about seeing this lovely piece in more than one magazine in the same month, when I realized that I had pulled it from the same magazine twice.

It doesn’t make it any less lovely or deserving. I think Elle Decor was right on target with the double billing. Maybe it means I need two?

Casey

On The Issue of Blue

A year ago, a close friend said to me, “Yes. I know about the blue and you.” I retorted with a general, “What are you talking about?” or “What do you mean?” She said, “I read the blog.”

Yes. It’s somewhat true about me and “the blue”. But lately I have been struggling with the desire to actually paint our bedoom a deep, rich blue. Not chalky or grey. Blue. Deep blue.

I attended a show at The Nelson-Atkins museum a few months ago, and the rooms were painted a rich, deep blue with hints of green in it. It inspired me so much that I actually called the offices and asked for the number/maker of said hue. I have since misplaced it because I realized it really wasn’t for me.

My husband isn’t crazy about this idea. He’s challenged me with the knowledge that our bedroom isn’t that large. He’s troubled me with the realization that blue walls are one thing, but what about the large amount of trim that is inherent in our 100-year-old home? And, most importantly, he wonders if I have thought about what our art will look like on blue, since it has always resided on white. He isn’t against the idea; he just seems to feel it’s important to needle me with details that clearly need to be considered before diving in.

The last and most imporant decision that must be considered is that we commissioned an outstanding local artist – my sister Casey – to paint our bedroom windows so that we would never need curtains again. These windows are the one detail I have yet to work around. I would never want to take away from their amazing strength by painting the walls a powerful – yet soothing – hue.

These are my issues with blue right now. Previous musings can be found here and here.

p.s. The top three image are from the website of Anthony Barratta. I have mentioned on my blog before that I adore his work and the work of his retired partner, William Diamond. When my ship comes in, his phone will ring.

The bottom photo is of our bedroom windows. They are stunning at night as well.

Bold Beauty

I started wearing reading glasses about a year ago. And I have noticed I have been wearing more and more jewelry at one time lately. Do you think when I grow up I can be as bold and beautiful as Iris Apfel?

I scanned this photo from the October 2009 issue of American Style Magazine.

Iris Apfel is an amazing woman that you can read more about in the New York Times here.

Today Was The Day

For well over 30 years, I have driven past Bothwell Lodge and told myself – and my occasional fellow passenger – that I would visit some day.

For well over 30 years, I have driven past Bothwell Lodge and told myself – and my occasional fellow passenger – that I would visit some day. There was never time to stop on my mad dashes to my father’s lake house and its peaceful embrace. My return home on the Sunday nights of my past found me looking at it from the highway knowing it was locked up tight and holding firmly to its visitor hours.

Today was the day, however. We have had an amazingly lovely fall in Missouri, and a destination is always a good thing when you take off on a day trip with the ones you love. Even after sleeping in, the Bothwell Lodge was in our sights by 12:30 pm.

A friend of mine commented on Facebook, when I posted a few pictures, that he always imagined the King and Queen of Missouri lived there during his trips through this region in Mid-Missouri. The lodge does make that impression from the highway, but, when you get around to the other side, it looks like a large but quaint home. We took the tour from a young and informed tour guide who didn’t have to tell us that Mr. Bothwell wasn’t big on interior decoration. The furnishings were spare and ran to the utilitarian in most rooms. There were things to ooh and aah over – like the scale of the rooms, the wood used throughout the house, and the breathtaking views. The details in the home were what constantly caught my eye.

The best thing about today was being with the two people who love a road trip as much as I do: my son and my husband. We all needed a quick trip out of the city, and this fall day was perfection.

p.s. The Bothwell Lodge is a State Historic Site, and the grounds are even sparser than the interiors. Today the trees and their colorful bounty provided all the pomp and circumstance. We, however, provided the circus acts on the lawn.