The 1990s were the epitome of excess. As DIYers early-on, this was no problem. If I wanted or needed something, I'd just barter for it. We were homeschooling our four (very) active children and I was always wrestling with my butterfly brain as I took on these projects, but somehow the progeny made it to productive adulthood despite my deviations. One such segue makes me grit my teeth. How I ended up painting two big rooms and wallpapering three rooms, just to barter for three used rugs, I'll never know. The wiser, older me would have said yes to just one of those areas. And this was a doctor, who could have afforded to not take advantage of my charity. Either way, after all was done, I had three rugs laid out in our 20x20 foot living room. That room was originally a garage, but the builder decided to convert it to conditioned space. One trend of the 90s was stenciling on walls and I had become an expert. I would ply that skill to lots of bartering as well, but in our cavernous box of a living room, I had stenciled folksy houses and birds above the chair rail and at the ceiling. The bottom part of the wall was slate blue, the top was cream. I loved it, until I didn't. When these rugs arrived, nothing seemed to work. They were also slate blue, with creams and rusty colors twined in there.
I had slaved over several projects for a decorator friend, without payment. He would get me all excited about some project he was working on, and I would jump in and paint things, stencil things, and paint some more. He definitely owed me. I asked him about my wonky living room. One afternoon, while we were having school, he called and said he was 10 minutes from our house. He wanted to look at the room and give me counsel about where to put my rugs.
I will call him Vincent. He was very short and very round, sort of like a barrel. Heavy as lead but light on his feet, full of drama. I would label him a Grandiose Narcissist, now that I've heard of that, but he was insanely gifted and just a mess. Difficult to deal with but then delightful in the same breath. He had four children and was on his second marriage. He wound up with three wives and three divorces in his lifetime, but none of that made sense to me because he was like one of the girls. One time, Ken brought me the phone and whispered, "Hey honey, it's your girlfriend." When I picked up, it was Vincent and I instinctively said, "Hey girl!" Well, because...
Back to the rug saga... He looked quickly around the room and started bossing the boys about where to move the furniture. He moved some tchotskes around, told me to buy two large ficus trees and where to put them. He said to paint the whole room a rich, warm cinnamon color, above and below the chair rail. The rugs and furniture were all angled and oriented toward the big fireplace. Fifteen minutes of ideas, then he dashed out of there. I threw the kids in the van and headed to Home Depot for paint. These are the reasons there are gaps in my childrens' educations. But they can build you a house, pull down a tree or save your life in case of emergency.
I got all the tasks done that Vincent suggested, including the ficus trees. The furniture and rugs were placed where he told us, everything cleaned up and finished. We lit a fire in the fireplace and I curled up on the couch with the kids and read them a book. From that moment on, where the room had felt like a sterile box, it became a warm, welcoming oasis for our days. Winter mornings, we curled up with books and our studies. When we didn't have firewood, I would buy those little logs that come in a package at the grocery store -- you could just light them and have four hours of magic (and probably toxins, but who's noticing that?) Evenings when Ken was working, I would put the children to bed upstairs, then have quiet time in a yummy chair by the fireplace. The room became my favorite place. When it was time to sell the house, I grieved losing that the most. Sweet memories of us around the room filled my mind, and I determined to do the same thing at the next house (though it ended up being a rich red -- yes, the excess was still rampant).
Time has gone by and we've seen many cycles of decor run through -- from the excess of the 90s to the modernization of the 2000s, then there was the Gray Period, then the Joanna Gaines Farmhouse period that included everything black and white, and now maybe we're moving to the Cottage-y scrumptiousness that I love and have never really left behind. My delicious Victorian house is full of layers of living and experience, too much, even. The children are having their own children, but I still curl up with my books and a cup of coffee by the (unworking) old fireplaces in this house. When the grands visit, laps and books are mandatory.
What goes around, comes around, but I've snatched the parts that I love and kept them (my poor kids, when it's time to dispense of all this). And I understand that yes, wallpaper is back. I've had decades of applying and then removing so much wallpaper, it's criminal. I promised myself I'd never do it again.
But there is that toile that would look darling in my kitchen...
No comments:
Post a Comment