Room With A View

I had a co-worker/friend who wanted me to meet her parents and so one lunch hour she took me to their small city apartment.  The first thing I noticed was a rather odd still life on top of the hi-fi in the living room.  There sat pictures of my co-worker and her sister as schoolgirls with hand painted macaroni necklaces slung between the frames.  Also included in this collection were two pairs of bronzed baby shoes, other small childhood artifacts and some long tapered lit candles.  "I told you", my friend whispered as she leaned into my ear.  It was right then and there that I decided I would never have an altar for any grown child of mine.  This vow was made before I was even married.

When my daughter grew up and left home, she left behind a small room with lilac walls and a big empty closet.  I was excited that I would at last have simultaneous summer and winter clothes storage but I also began to craft a view of myself in that room.  I saw myself reading on an as-yet-undiscovered loveseat looking out of the second story window to a sea of green from the woodlands behind the house.  I saw myself sitting in a cozy feminine chair at night in my slippers and shawl sipping a last cup of tea and watching TV.  I saw myself napping, exercising, daydreaming, and chatting companionably to friends on the phone, my leg dangling nonchalantly from said loveseat.  I knew I wanted to claim that room as soon as possible.  And although I have a fair amount of pictures of my daughter, a drawer filled with grammar school art, not to mention Mother's Day presents created by precious little hands, I knew I would have no shrines in this room.

Soon I spackled and painted the walls.  I took a chance and bought an alarmingly large antique armoire to hold the television and DVD player.  I found a faded rose-colored love seat with dainty flowing lines, a little tapestry vanity chair to hold magazines, and a graceful orchid plant.  But the pi�ce de r�sistance which thrilled me the most was a cheap white half-wall bookcase that now holds my entire collection of style books which for years, were inconveniently helter-skelter under my bed.

Last week as I perched on the new loveseat, I surveyed all that is mine and wistfully looked out the window trying to imagine the bare-branched trees in their soon-to-be green dress.  My eyes happily skimmed the titles of the books in my new shelf just before I smugly took stock of my winter sweaters, stacked up in the closet like drums.  The view is of a literary life full of reading and writing, and evening quietude to restore the soul.  But it only took a quick audit to see that as I look to the future, something was missing from the past.  Turns out it was a small round photo of a little girl in a pink tutu.

I Capture the Castle

The title of this post is from the marvelous book by Dodie Smith, I Capture the Castle.  The story is dreamy and funny and shimmers like a crystal bowl in a shaft of sun.  A timelessness clings to the pages but it reads as though it were written yesterday afternoon.  Cassandra Mortimer overcomes poverty and dramatic family secrets to come of age in a decrepit old castle that she does indeed, capture.

I especially love the character of Miss Blossom, the ever-present dress form that resides in Cassandra's ramshackle room and to whom she throws her voice when she and her sister, motherless, are in need of consolation and advice.  (I used to do a Miss Blossom bit for my niece Hillary and she still addresses her letters to me with "Dear Miss Blossom"). These days, Miss Blossom is speaking to me as I begin to fall in love with my house all over again...warts and all.  Her voice is soothing and comforting as she says over and over, "all will be well" and "in due time, my dear".  The feelings of being overwhelmed are slowly dissipating.

Of all things, a simple shower curtain has helped too.  I saw it in a window at a local curtain shop.  It has all the botanical beauty I can stand with trailing vines, wandering wisteria and roses - always roses.  I walked by it three times before ducking in to finger it and then order it.  Lucky me to find an old "Miss Blossom friend" working there, from my favorite once-was Laura Ashley shop.  When Judy told me I should have it, my mind pictured my bathroom and I asked if there was a valance for the window too?  And fabric to make a cafe curtain for my vanity?  Oh yes, yes, and yes, I was told.  And a sale price.  I thought of the dresses the Mortimer girls crafted for the dinner party they were invited to that promised to elevate their status with a marriage proposal.

I left the shop with a fabric swatch large enough to hang over the rod. But the funny thing is, this scrap of fabric had me taking my floral plates off the wall and cleaning them, rearranging my potions and lotions and generally tidying up while I wait for my new things.  When I was done there, I finally opened the door and took a gimlet eye to the bedroom my daughter recently vacated.  What will this space actually be?  With (floral) notebook and pen in hand, I set to work scribbling a list of furnishings and belongings I would move into the room:  style books, my desk, a sleeper love seat, television and cabinet, baskets for files.  The closet will hold off-season clothing and hats.  I had a plan after flailing about for a few weeks and nearly purchasing another place to begin all over with.

But this house has tender memories, creature comforts, and a certain charm I wasn't able to find in the other one.  I have a comfortable and beautiful terrace that abuts a wooded grove with hidden ferny grottoes.  The property lines are encircled by an ancient stone wall most like built by the Native Americans who lived in this spot centuries ago. The sea is over the tree tops from my second story windows.  Yes, there is work to be done including painting which I hate.  But little by little, twig by twig, I will tend to it all.  I am a one-woman show but I will ask for help, hire when necessary, and stick to my plan.  I WILL capture this place.  A wise woman once told me that intention becomes reality.  Now it wasn't Miss Blossom who said that - but it sure could have been.

~

"I can't dance or sing but I can turn a house into a living, breathing thing".

(Paraphrased quote that I cannot recall the source of, but I love it!)