Kids In the Hall

Yesterday I finished the hallway.  It’s a little weird how happy I am about that.  Only one picture allowed (new hall rules) so it’s my collage picture of some ancestors at various stages in their lives.
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Because there is less light here the colour looks more orange and the white really stands out.

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Ok, I expect that’s about all the time you would like to spend in my hallway admiring walls and doors. And a surprisingly clean floor.  Let’s go around the corner.

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And turn left.  And then back up and turn right.  You know, so you don’t get lost.  New shelf rules too.  Two or less items per.  I just noticed one has three things.  Oh well.

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The colour behind the couch is called “tea dance”.  It’s looking a little more pink here than it does in real life.  And notice how different my “melted marshmallow” looks in bright morning light.

imageI’m not sure what this suspended slab of stone or concrete under the fireplace is called, because don’t mantles go above, not below?  Anyway, it was ugly and I always kept it completely covered in stuff.  It’s a perfect place for candles.  And other assorted junk.  And did I mention ugly?  Well now it’s covered in a grey textured paint which looks and feels like rough stone.  And I no longer feel the need to pile loads of crap on top of it.

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My daughter made me take away those little elephants. She is ruthless.

And finally, my art corner.  Sadly neglected for now but not forever.

image imageBecause there has to be a mess somewhere.

I should have cut the grass today, but it was just too hot.  These days you have to get out there between thunderstorms. And despite all the rain, the heat manages to keep the grass looking half dead, especially in the front where it kind of matters.  Anyway, I had a nap instead.  Painting wears me right out and it sometimes takes days to recover from all my hard work.  Ha!  No, I don’t really believe that either.

I think we might be half way finished!  This is another picture from the kitchen because I forgot to add it last post.

imageIn case you were worried I might have chucked out the stove.

Back at it tomorrow.  Two bedroom ceilings on the agenda.  Or more naps. Hard choices to be made.

Being Birdie Bijou

On a blizzardy night in December, as she tossed and turned in her big feather bed, Birdie Bijou Berengaria had a rather unsettling dream. She was walking across a beautiful ballroom filled with laughing, chattering, fashionable people when she looked down at herself in alarm. She was loosing her color, slowly blending in with the woodwork; fading, dissolving, disappearing. She called out to the people milling around her, but her voice was muted and soft and could not be heard. She reached out to touch a shoulder but her hand passed through the material and the bone as if they were mist, leaving no impression whatsoever.

This is totally unacceptable, she thought to herself, as she attempted to stamp her foot in dismay, but that appendage had mysteriously turned to soft rubber and made no sound at all on the ballroom floor. She began to back away from the horror of this moment, glancing furtively around for some way to escape when she caught sight of her now nearly transparent reflection in the gilt mirror over the fireplace. She was a little grey mouse. No shine, no sparkle, no flare. Nothing. I am nobody, she moaned in despair. I am vanishing. I will be gone and never missed, and no one will remember me.

Birdie Bijou Berengaria suddenly sat up in bed with a start. What do I have to do to get noticed around here? she wailed. And suddenly she knew the answer.

From that day on, Birdie was bold. She wore shimmering sapphire and blinding scarlet, ruffles and lace and jewels. She threw away all her sensible shoes and replaced them with glossy black buckled mary janes that clicked and clacked and stomped with a lovely great racket. She held her head high and adorned it with lustrously flamboyant bows. She felt radiant and glorious. And because she positively glowed, she attracted attention as never before. She smiled and laughed and basked in the sunshine of her new reinvented self and her wonderful, interesting, and now thankfully very physically solid, friends.

She was so delighted to no longer be overlooked and ignored that she never once stopped to ponder what actually brought about this gratifying change. Let her go on believing it was the giant winged hair bow that suddenly turned her life around. We know what really happened.

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