I have a rich fantasy life. The kind of rich that’s stupid. I flip through the pages of magazines, and Instagram feeds shopping with my eyes and my heart until my virtual cart tippeth over. If that is where it stayed, I be a wealthy girl…I can’t help but think of Gwen Stefani’s song – Rich Girl.
“If I was a rich girl (na, na) See, I’d have all the money in the world, if I was a wealthy girl No man could test me, impress me, my cash flow would never ever end Cause I’d have all the money in the world, if I was a wealthy girl”
Left: Blue Print Store . Dallas . TX displaying Quadrille . China Seas . Sigourney. Right Top: Same in Ziggy Blue on White. Right Bottom: Custom Sisal.
Alas, I am not so I am imagining very, very hard, what it would feel like to have a whole house of my own. What it would look like on the outside (white with black shutters and a fire engine red front door, or would it Robin’s Egg Blue or a deep Violet)? Whatever color I chose for that front door, it would be painted in oil, coat after thick silky coat until it shined like a freshly washed Ferrari straight from the dealership. The planters on the front porch would have Boxwoods that had been clipped and manicured to circular perfection, and just beyond the shell drive you’d spy the pool house. It would be an extensive of the main house, but with an escapist feel that immediately comes to mind when you think of a house that was designed specifically for a pool. Can you say rich?
It’s not secret that I am more comfortable in small places. They suit me. When I look at a mansion all I can think of is, how in the heck would I clean that thing? The dust bunnies that pile up in my mind start to freak me out. Far better to live in a place that you can manage on your own. That is of course if you are a control freak like me and also not …. I think you know what I am going to say – flush with excess cash.
I want to spend those ducats on custom flooring, on stunning tile, on wall covering for my dressing area, on curtains, the cost of which you could trade for a ball gown – and not for any old charity event, for a king or a queen’s coronation ball. Got the picture now? Good – dream a little dream with me.
I’ve been thinking about arrival and all its varied connotations lately. Not the kind of arrival that leaves you breathless in front of the departures gate just before your flight is set to take off, though making it feels pretty good. Even if you have to admit to yourself that you could stand to up your cardio routine a tick or two. Once you get on that plane, there is still yet another destination to be conquered. It was another type of arrival altogether that I was noodling until my noodle hurt a little, it’s the “having made it” kind of arrival.
Now this might surprise you, but being able to tile a full bath — I mean really bathe it in Ann Sachs or Fire Clay or some other decadent luxury of a tile, to me would be the splashiest of arrivals, even if I was the only one to see it on my glamorous floor.
The trouble with arriving is that it often doesn’t feel as fun as you thought it might. Like that bubble bath you’ve been dreaming about, a few minutes in you find yourself itchy and ready for a cool shower. So this is my cool shower of reality for you all. You don’t need to dive right in to experience the wonder of these beauties, and they are beautiful, but like a 1950’s Starlet with her sunken tub and Swan spitting faucets, they come with a price tag.
Consider using just a sprinkle instead of a deluge. Make it a focal point instead of a flood. A pretty border around the mirror, a diamond, square, or a hexagon shaped mat at the vanity or in front of the tub, or maybe at eyes level inside the shower wall. There is something to be said for restraint, and I know you are begging me not to say it, but I must….the journey.
Left: Annie Selke . Watercolor Lines – French Linen. Right Top: Annie Selke . Moon – Soft Pink. Right Bottom: Annie Selke . Veruto – Orchid.
I know lots of folks have been talking about what they have missed and what, perhaps surprisingly, they have not, during this pandemic. As Americans, consumerism seems to have been gifted to us as a birthright, encoded in our DNA as surely as our hair color, skin tone, and propensity for language, music or math are. Perhaps gifted isn’t quite the right word. Maybe the word in fact, is cursed. It robs us of our creativity, and creativity, surprises and delights. Why ever would we want to go without it, for the opportunity to use an avocado cutter, that you’ll probably forget you have, or have difficulty finding in your cluttered kitchen drawers when the time comes to use it? I can tell you how to do it with a knife and you’ll be just fine.
That’s what this pandemic has done for me. I’ve discovered that I have been limiting myself to the purchase of food, something that I would not be just fine, if I didn’t have. It’s made me Marie Kondo my decisions in a way I hadn’t before. Oh I always organized the way Marie says one should, before I knew it was a thing to fold, roll, tuck, and line ones drawers with our belongings, in the way Marie says in her soft gentle voice, but as for the part of loving and cherishing them, I don’t think I was really down with that philosophy, and yet I find myself asking, will that sandal really add a new rich texture to my life? Henry David Thoreau said: “The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it.” That’s pretty profound. I know I still pick pennies up off the street, understanding that someone exchanged their time for that little piece of copper, but I am not sure that the purchases that I’ve made have been framed out so prosaically as to beg the question – Is that $300. swim suit worth the amount of your one single and precious life you exchanged for it? Now maybe it is, but this pandemic has provided a new perspective for me. I am still going to appreciate beauty. As a write this and look over at the craftsmanship of the window seat that Eastward Companies built, with it’s deliciously thick, Sister Parish fabric covered cushion, and two Farmhouse Pottery grid patterned pillows, I can say that that exchange was worth it to me.
I can live without my avocado cutter. It’s still never been used. Maybe I could sell it on Craig’s List.
When I was young I imagined working in an architect’s office, probably spurred on by my love of the Brady Bunch. Mr. Brady always had that tube with a cool set of plans. Later, when I did start working for an architect – many in fact, and came to know of some of our world’s most famous, I had an image of the lone genius frantically sketching masterful designs on cocktail napkins, or any old scrap of paper they could pull out when this moment of divine inspiration struck.
That’s not really how it works, at least not for most of us. Sure we could be inspired by an unusual color we see on the inside of a velvety petal of a flower, or the rugged texture of a No. 9 sheet of sandpaper. When you start to open your eyes to the world, particularly when you are on a quest for something, it’s amazing what the world puts in your path. It doesn’t however mean that you don’t have to do the work, and yes, it’s work. Inspiration sometimes requires a hand on your shoulder, that holds your unwilling form, firmly in the seat and suggests that you get to the business of writing, even if writing isn’t the business you feel like being in at the moment.
I have a lot of moments like that lately, but I was in fact inspired by Phillip Jeffries this weekend. Oh, I’ve been inspired by the wallcoverings in the past, but the shear volume of choices is delectable, and my eyes – not my earnings, wanted to devour them all.
Founded over forty years ago, this family owned business started with just ten selections of grass cloth wallcovering, over a garage in New Jersey no less. Today, they are one of the world’s leaders. I hope this piece shows you why.