I love that we’ve
decorated with art that reflects where our hearts lie—over the fireplace,
Hoosier impressionist TC Steele’s Selma in the Garden; Picasso’s Boy
with Pipe in the front hall; Monet’s Poppy Field in Argenteuil
on the living room wall; giant trout
and salmon identification posters in the upstairs hall.
I love that we’ve
placed the dining and living room furniture on the diagonal, European-style. I’m
fond of the intricate prayer rug from Morocco that’s the centerpiece of the
family room. Very convenient is the crammed “office” that we can shut the door
on to keep our self-respect when company comes. Fabulous are the custom shelves
that line three walls of the living room to house our enormous collection of
books. And happy is the gardener with a half-acre of mixed sun and shade to
play with.
Those are the
positives. Now the negatives…
The 1970s shag
rug and wallpaper in the master bedroom that we’ve never bothered to replace. Our
night tables crafted of bricks and boards, a holdover from college days. Badly
mismatched hand-me-down and thrift store chests of drawers. The peeling
wallpaper in both upstairs baths. The kitchen cabinets that still sport 1970s
hardware. The counter top that no one would take for granite. The ugly front
door we could never agree on a replacement for.
Dave and I have
not talked about where we’ll go when it’s time to give up the house. I once
figured we might stay another 10 years tops, and that was three years ago!
HGTV could have a
field day fixing us up to sell. But could we? The thought makes me tired. I’m
content sitting here in our cozy family room in front of the Moroccan prayer
rug, my head deep in the sand.
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