Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Wednesday Winston: What Lies Beneath

Don't look under the bed.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

The Best Nest

After weeks and weeks we are finally starting to get settled into our home.
When my parents came to visit, my mother described the place as a "dollhouse." With all its nooks, crannies and eccentricities, I think she summed it up just right. Everything in the house is small-- the doorways, the hall, the closets, the cupboards. Jason and I spent a good 30 minutes cramming our sofa into this miniature reading nook.

To this day I'm not exactly sure how we managed it. Needless to say, I won't be moving it again any time soon.

To accompany my dollhouse, I acquired some doll furniture. We bought this desk from D.I. for $25. I painted it mint green and attached a truly spectacular drawer pull to it and this was the result:

I also borrowed a leaf out of my sister's, Sasha;s, book and made a flower wreath for our dining nook.

And then of course there are the various tiny china cabinets throughout the house which I quickly filled with all my treasures...

The bedroom is by far the largest room in the house, and the one in which Winston likes best to respose.

Welcome to the dollhouse.
Better pictures to come soon.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Wednesday Winston: Stuck in repose

Happy is the home with at least one cat.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

A good man is hard to find.

Plunger in hand, I watched in horror as the murky water steadily rose to the tip of the bowl. I screamed once-- a strangled, desperate cry-- "No-no-no-no-no-no!" but there was no stopping it. With a gut-wrenching sloosh it came in a great dirty wave over the sides of the toilet and onto the formerly sparkling bathroom floor. I groaned and would have fallen to my knees and cried, but, as the floor was swimming in toilet water, I danced instead upon my tiptoes while fat tears rolled down my cheeks and gagged as the water continued to gush out of the toilet and onto the floor.
A flooding toilet. A dripping faucet. A broken outlet. These aren't just the joys of home ownership-- they're the joys of home rental. In our old apartment we went two whole days without running water. We brushed our teeth with distilled water and filled Winston's bowl with a jug we kept in the fridge. We nearly suffocated when the weather turned hot as we'd painted our windows shut. The kitchen faucet leaked every time the shower turned on and our front room window had a large crack in it, but, as evidenced by all my former blog posts, it was the best and sweetest of homes to us.
Where we live has always been a big deal to Jason and me. It doesn't take much to please us; we both-yes both- get excited about a well-designed home, an ivy covered wall, some decorative trim, a large window. "That's a nice house," Jason will say to me excitedly, pointing at a modest, slightly run-down one bedroom home. And then I'll see that it has a curved hobbit door. And then I'll notice the huge tree in the front yard, and the beautiful flowers growing in the garden. And then I'll turn to Jason and tell him everything I'd do to improve it inside and out while he chimes in with the easiest and most practical method of carrying out my plans. On a trip from Powell, Wyoming to Salt Lake City we spent over six hours mentally designing our dream home. Six hours. We planned everything. And we only stopped because our voices became hoarse. There was more to imagine, more to improve, more to build.
There always is when I'm with Jason.
When we toured our current residence for the first time I wanted to cry. To perhaps a more experienced eye our apartment probably looks pretty mediocre at best-- the chipped wooden floors. The aging wallpaper. The unflushable toilet.
But I don't see it.
When I stepped over the threshold I felt all my dreams coming true-- china cabinets in every room! Black and white tile in the bathroom! Wainscoating in the kitchen! Jason held my hand as we walked through and I desperately refrained from squealing and touching everything-- two of my most unfortunate habits. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him watching me closely, observing my reaction to the cabinets, the lights, the porch, absorbing wave after wave of each new delight-- a hidden cupboard. A living room and dining nook. A dressing room. I squeezed his hand and whispered in his ear "I love this house!" to which he just smiled, because he already knew I would.
That night I tossed in bed, my heart aching. I don't think I've ever coveted anything as much as this apartment. I turned to see Jason looking at me, the feverish glow in my eyes reflected in his.

As I stood in the middle of my water-logged bathroom I realized that this, the apartment of my dreams, was imperfect, just as any 100 year old home is prone to be. I heard the squeak of the door as Jason stepped into the room beside me, and, following my fretful explanation, enveloped me in a kindly, slightly damp hug. As we finished mopping up the water our minds began to fall into the mists of dreaming and scheming--once again imagining the endless possibilities that our imaginations can yield.

Thursday, July 07, 2011

Limbo time!

Excuse the lack of blogging, pictures and Wednesday Winstons. We have recently moved from our old apartment and are currently trying to get everything in order.

Lots of juicy posts to come!