Top of the Mornin’ to You, My Friend!
Can you finish this sentence from The Wizard of Oz? “Close your eyes, tap your heels together three times, and think to yourself, There’s __ _____ ____ ____!”
Ahhhh, home sweet home. When Kevin and I married in 1982, we had no choice but to decorate our first apartment in the style of “Early Thrift Store.” Our couch came from his parents’ basement. Our end tables were boxes with sheets over them. We had some webbed-seat lawn chairs on hand (in case of company). We had no bed. We slept on cushions on the floor. I borrowed a vacuum cleaner from my neighbor. Kevin’s friends chipped in and got us a TV set for our wedding, and my friends pooled resources to get us a dinette set. What else did we need? We had our love to keep us warm.
Oh, but enter the mid-1980s! And the genesis of all decorating schemes and dreams . .
. . . Country.
I think everyone I knew decorated their house in Country style, complete with gingham this, checkered that, and calico everything else! Stuffed bears or rabbits that sat in a chair, dressed in ruffly dresses and bows on their ears. Poofy valances. Curtains with big bows. Wooden shelves with heart-shaped cut-outs. Mop dolls. This stuff would get me salivating and counting how much money I had.
There was no internet surfing for decorating ideas back then. We had to go to stores or craft fairs. My neighbor and friend Pam and I went to the mother of all craft fairs twice a year. It took place at the Minnesota State Fairgrounds in St. Paul. I mean, this thing was huge. Pam and I would very methodically start at one end and work our way to the other end of the building, careful not to miss one solitary thing. Because, alas! We might find the perfect chicken for Pam’s kitchen or apple for mine.
Why chickens and apples, you ask? Well, you see, back then, you had to have a theme for your kitchen. It was a requirement. (And can I tell you that Pam is the most “un-chickeny” person I know. Someone gave her something for her kitchen with a chicken on it, and then another followed suit, until lo and behold, she had a chicken kitchen whether she wanted to or not.) I, on the other hand, chose the apple as my go-to. (That made more sense to me than Pam’s chickens, but I wasn’t going to tell her that.) Some other popular motifs found at that time included ducks and geese. (Ducks. Geese. Chickens. Do you suspect fowl play?)
As we roamed these aisles looking for just the right items we “needed,” we’d try to remember which booth we saw these things. We always wanted to wait to purchase items in case something better appeared in the next aisle. But I remember every time we went, we’d hear the announcement, “Please make your final purchases; we’ll be closing in 20 minutes,” at which time Pam and I would look at each other with huge eyes, mouths agape, and say, “Oh no! Where was that one chicken/apple I saw??” More than once, we dashed up one aisle and down another, looking for that coveted item we didn’t buy right away.
I once saw a sign in a store that sold home décor that read, “Your husband called. He said buy whatever you want.” Clever signs. That’s another true mark of the Country look. I still have a sign above my washing machine that says, “Laundry Room. Drop your pants here.” Oh man, we were so funny and cute back then! (My granddaughter calls this “cheugy.” Go ahead, look it up.)
And I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least mention sponge-painting. I mean, come on! I was the master of this lost art form! The mark of a true artist was finding the correct color combination, using those colors to sponge-paint the bottom half of a wall, and then finding a wallpaper border to go around the room midway up. Maybe, if you were uber-creative, you might then take those sponges and make random blobs above the wallpaper border to show off your artistry. If I had a nickel for everything I sponge-painted in the 1980s and 1990s . . . .
My youngest son recently turned 30 (how is that possible when I’m only 39?), and I assembled a photo album for him—pictures throughout his life. I got such a kick out of looking at the background of these pictures and sneaking a peak at my Country house look.
When we first moved to Florida, we arrived with a moving truck full of furniture, a far cry from our days of boxes and lawn chairs. My décor was still on the Country side, but with the internet came a chance to look and see what else was out there. I remember discovering something called the “Lodge look.” That was me, baby! Out with the apples and in with the pine trees! Yeah, I lived in South Florida now, but I was rebelling against that move and decorated our home to look like it belonged in the Yukon Territory. Pine trees, moose, bear, cabins. That was the look I wanted! I may have had the only “Lodge look” home in all of Florida.
It wasn’t until fairly recently that I accepted that we live in Florida, and I chucked the Lodge look for the “Coastal” look—lots of blue and white, starfish, sea shells, and beachy scenes. Pine trees were exchanged for wispy beach grass plants.
I’m more in an “undecorating” stage of life nowadays. I no longer look at empty walls and wonder, “What could I put there?” Now, I look at all this stuff and think, “What can I do with all of this?” Of course, there are some treasures that have been with us through the years. Through the Country years and the Lodge look years and are currently in our Coastal years.
My favorite things to look at in my house, and I’m guessing it’s the same for everyone, are the photos of my family—my kids as toddlers, teenagers, and adults, my grandkids, and my granddogs. I have one of those frames that scroll through images, one after the other. I have mine loaded with pictures of family and friends and turn it on daily. Family memories never go out of style.
I hope that wherever you hang your hat, you feel like it’s a place where you can be entirely at ease and completely yourself. I heard somewhere that your home should “hug you” when you walk in the door.
May you feel many a homey hug this week, my friend!
Written with love – – – Patti XOXO
“Home is the nicest word there is.”
Laura Ingalls Wilder