One of my favorite children's books is When You Give A Mouse A Cookie (author Laura Numeroff). It's about a mouse, but it's really about us humans (especially toddler ones, of which I might still be one). One thing leads to another and next thing you know, we're on a whole different path. Then it all winds back 'round to the beginning.
My "cookie" hunt started some time ago, when I began obsessing about the backsplash in our 1902 Queen Victorian kitchen. Well, it probably started when the ceiling fan died. Those things have never been the prettiest item to put over your kitchen island, but they sure help Mama stay cool while she gets supper on the table. In fact, when we moved here, I had my husband remove an ancient light fixture and put up an oscillating monstrosity so that I could bear the Georgia heat while I worked over the hot stove (barefoot always). I boxed up the old one, labeled it respectfully and put it in the attic, for future owners to find. Pragmatism has its place, even in a beautiful, very mature home. Don't tell anyone, but I have painted some of the orangey trim with Sherwin Williams Antique White in places, because one can only take so much of that shade of orange before depression takes over. When we're dead and gone and someone else buys this place, they can get busy stripping it if they want to.
Ceiling fans have taken an even further nosedive, in the beauty department, since I bought my last one. Most of them look too modern or worse, they look like 1980 came back to haunt us. I opted for a vintage-looking fan, mounted on the wall, instead of another thing over my island. Then the wheels started turning. I got Ken to pull the old fixture out of the attic and had it re-installed over the island. I then got the bright idea to move it over the sink, for better task lighting, and get a copper pot rack to put above the island (found a $1000 one for $75 on Facebook marketplace=winning). I hoofed it to sell another house, to fund all these ideas. Because what's a copper pot rack without copper pots to put on it? I'm not French, but it's starting to feel that way around here. Me and ole Julia, though she actually cooked.
All that activity might have made me start staring at the backsplash. It was retro-early-90s, dark, patchy and didn't even reach all the way up to where it was supposed to. I scrounged all the sales and found the perfect, Victorian-inspired tile to go there. Before I put it up, I began to obsess over the old countertops. They were scuffed, very dated and begging to go somewhere else. Maybe I'll build a studio in the backyard to accommodate them, because they were next on the chopping block. Long, winding tale, but I found myself in huge warehouses of stone, looking at lovely works of God's art and praying none of those slabs decided to fall on me.
I love natural stone. I told Ken that if he ever wants to surprise me with a gift, just buy me a nice fossil. So I guess that's what he's doing right now, because in these big chunks of rock, there are rivers of sediment all preserved in gorgeous patterns. Occasionally, there are shells and trilobites found floating in there. As I looked at the various types of stone, putting my warm hands against the coolness, I saw amazing depths of color and variation. I imagined the great Flood, where the earth was inundated with water and sand and silt, all of it getting amalgamated into what seems like precious jewels. After much trial, error and bouts of sleeplessness (I ain't doing this again before I die), I arrived at the perfect slab that matches the cabinets and still evokes a classic vibe. I couldn't abide anything plain, no matter how hard I tried. They should arrive in a week or two. I'm going to put my grandkids up on it and tell them all about Noah.
Meanwhile, I might need to sell another house. If you give a mouse a cookie, he's gonna want a glass of milk.
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