Bringing Mom into the Cottage

For all the years of my growing up, there were two chairs on either side of the Italian marble fireplace in our Chicago brownstone. On the left was Dad’s chair, overstuffed, beige, comfortable, but not exactly a stylish piece of furniture. On the right was Mom’s wingchair, more delicate and ladylike, upholstered in turquoise because it was her favorite color. There they sat most evenings after supper, reading silently but often reading to each other. One would say, “Listen to this,” and read some passage, and pretty soon the other would respond similarly. Their minds were so in sync that they couldn’t resist sharing passages. Sometimes that sharing resulted in their reading aloud to each other. I distinctly remember that they went through all the volumes of Will and Ariel Durant’s The Story of Civilization that way.

Fast forward down the years, and Mom’s wing chair ended in whatever house I lived in. It was reupholstered several times, the latest being when I moved to the cottage and chose a light, whimsical patterned fabric. But then where to put it? Neither the living area nor the bedroom were spacious and there seemed no place. Still, I would not get rid of it because, well, it was Mom’s. For several years it has been shoved into a corner in front of my desk, with a dog crate making it inaccessible to all except Sophie who climbs on it when she needs to see out the window to the driveway and check on who is coming and going.

Yesterday, upholstery cleaners came. The couch and both barrel chairs that flank it needed cleaning. Over the phone, the owner of the company had asked if the fabric was washable or needed dry cleaning, and I said I had no idea. So two affable gentlemen came to look and do a fabric test. Their conclusion was that the colors could run. The furniture needed dry cleaning which meant they had to take it to their shop where ventilation allowed safer use of the strong chemicals involved (I hope they don’t come back smelling like cleaning fluid).

The absence of those two chairs left the living area looking barren, so tonight, before company came, Jordan rearranged and put the wing chair on the right side of the couch. I love it in that position. Not only does it look good, it seems to bring a bit of Mom into the cottage. As it happens, I am doing some work on a project that involves my mom and her cooking and recipes, so it is doubly fitting that her chair is in the living room. Not that I’m sure she would enjoy all conversations that go on in my cottage—I can see that chin go up in the air and the eyes go out the window.

But with the chair there, I think I can and will talk to Mom more. Like, “Why did you like this recipe?” and “Where did you learn to cook this?” I am delighted.

Yesterday, with no chairs, a young friend (she’s the age of my children) from the TCU library came for an early happy hour. When she settled on the couch with no chairs around it, I asked what she wanted to drink and offered my two easy choices: wine or water.

Reluctantly she said that she felt dehydrated from the heat and a lot of hauling and schlepping she’d done that day (librarians do not get the luxury of sitting behind a counter all day), and she’d prefer ice water. I already had my water, so I joined her. We laughed and gossiped and caught up on each other and TCU news for over an hour, and when she left, she said, “I’m sorry I didn’t make it a happier happy hour. Wine next time.” I assured her it was plenty happy without the wine. And that’s what struck me as important about it: I am so used to serving wine at happy hour that it was a delight to know that jolliness comes with ice water too. I look forward to a repeat.

My trivial note for the day: do you know what the latest TikTok self-care topic is: bed-rotting. Awful name, isn’t it? It means taking an extended period of time out by lying in bed, not sleeping but doing other activities. My first question was: how much else can you do? Okay, there’s the obvious quick answer, but get past that. I for one do not like to eat or read in bed, though I have been known to lie in bed, sort of half-conscious, for hours at a time, if I’m not quite right with the world. In fact, I claim I nap because some of my best ideas come in that twilight, almost-asleep period. But bed-rotting? It’s an awful term.

Sleep tight, pleasant dreams—but no rotting. (Do you know how hard I’m resisting a play on words here?)                                                                                     

Help Me Decide

Two cover choices for my novella, “The Color of Fear.” I have asked my family and a few friends. Their reaction has almost always been for cover B, but when I explain my thinking, they usually agree. I want your opinion.

Cover B is obviously more eye-catching, quivering with tension. It makes my stomach knot. But it is not me. I write cozies. I’m afraid someone would buy the novella and be disappointed (it is about the kidnapping of an infant, hence the booties in Cover A and the bassinet in B). The novella will be in the Kelly O’Connell Mysteries series, and I think this cover matches others in the series and picks up the Craftsman architecture theme nicely. I love Cover B but a book-savvy friend said she dislikes monochromatic covers, because they tend to fade into the background.

I have almost decided on Cover A with some modifications, but I could be persuaded otherwise. Let me know what you think. And there’s a third possibility—I can ask for a third rough sketch. I’m looking forward to hearing from you.

On a totally different note, I watched an old friend leave the house today. Men came to pick up an overstuffed chair I’ve had for over forty years. It was big, soft, comfy—big enough for two, and back in the day, when we were all young and had big parties, I watched more than one romance begin and flourish in that chair.

It’s clearly too big for the cottage, but I moved it out here because it had become “Sophie’s chair”—where she slept day and night. As a puppy, locked in the office with me and the chair, she ruined the upholstery with her chewing. These days she’s in and out of the backyard frequentlyWhat a wonderful post, Judy. A lovely insight about your younger self's wisdom, and how you have grown as a writer. It's great that you are continuing to allow that book to reflect the growth, and to keep reaching readers. Clearly it's a story that resonates. Thanks for sharing this.
 and has stained the chair with mud, leaves, and general dirt. The dilemma: where will she choose to sleep now that her chair is gone. One of my newly upholstered chairs will go in its place, but I am scheming about ways to minimize her damage without hurting her feelings.

Oh, the things we do for our dogs.

Who Gets Excited About a Chair?

Me! That’s who gets excited. The two chairs I had reupholstered came back today and I am so excited about them.

Praise for Jordan. The arrival of the furniture meant much rearranging, and she did it all. We still haven’t got it right. It’s hard to fit upholstered furniture into a small spot, but I have reluctantly agreed to get rid of Sophie’s chair. It’s not in good shape—upholstery torn, chewed when she was a puppy; slipcover slightly stained from the day she got into the mud, we brought her in and left without checking her feet or watching her movements. Yep, it’s time for Sophie’s chair to go. But it is the most comfortable chair I’ve ever owned, and over the years I watched several romances blossom in that chair. I’ve offered it free on our neighborhood email newsletter but so far no takers. If you’re in the area and are interested, let me know.

We moved that chair out here as a way of getting Sophie acclimated to the cottage. She sleeps in it all day.

We did move the lawyer’s bookcase to the place Colin wanted to put it earlier, and he now has the right to say I told you so. Jordan says she had it there in the first place and was over-ruled by her siblings.

The wing chair was my mother’s favorite reading chair. She’d sit in it of an evening reading—I remember particularly the works of husband-and-wife historians Will and Ariel Durant—and Dad would sit across the fireplace in his chair. They were so funny, because they kept interrupting each other with, “Listen to this.” It’s a wonder they ever got anything read through. Mom upholstered the chair in turquoise, her favorite color, and I have reupholstered it at least once, maybe more. Now it’s done in a whimsical pattern.

Wing chair "before"

After I moved to the cottage, Sophie developed a fascination with Mom’s wing chair. She’d sit in it, particularly if there was company. And, unfortunately, she drooled on the arm. Now it’s in light colors, which worries me, though the mud episode has only happened once in six years, and I had antimacassars made for the arms. Holding my breath, because we will eventually put it in the corner where “her chair” now is.

The barrel chair is one of a pair—the other one is in the main house, though they tell me whenever they get new furniture they’ll get rid of it. I had real doubts about having matching chairs upholstered in differing fabric. But the gods work in mysterious ways, as Mom always told me. When the upholsterer delivered the chairs today, he said, “You ordered way too much of that fabric, enough to do that second chair.” So that’s what I’ll do.

Both Jacob and Jordan sat in the new chairs with a surprised look on their faces. The upholstery is new, thicker, firmer—a whole different chair. And I’m delighted with the fabrics—they give the cottage living area a much brighter, lighter look. For now I’m calling it a summer look.

Piece by piece--and civility, Democrats, and what have you

 That’s how slow progress on the cottage seems, but today was a red letter day. We went from this

to this.

The new couch will be easier to work with because of its solid color. Big advantage: it’s a hide-a-bed. Every time I’ve had one I’ve sworn never again, but this will be handy for the occasional out of town guest or for grandkids who might want to sleep in the cottage—dare I hope?

At any rate, that’s one more piece of the puzzle, and it makes me all the more anxious to get in the new space. I understand this week they’re making my cabinets for kitchen and bathroom—another step forward. I can see the sitting area in my mind and am wondering how close it will eventually come to the picture in my mind.

Other than that, it’s been a political day. I’ve had the Democratic convention on off and on, and until tonight it distressed me. The Democrats were in as much chaos as the Republicans had been and were, to my dismay, as rude. Even Nancy Pelosi was booed. What do you do when the party you’ve given your life to boos you?

I know in part this anger is directed toward Debbie Wasserman-Schultz, who is now out of the picture, but I haven’t kept up with the details of why everyone’s angry with her. I gather it has something to do with dirty tricks to keep Bernie from being the Democratic nominee—which only proves both parties can do dirty tricks. Another sad commentary on our society.

It’s all part of a pattern that’s been discussed a lot—not so much the dumbing down of America (though that’s a real concern too) but the loss of civility. It’s easy for someone like me, a senior citizen, to look at the younger generations and wrong my hands, thinking of all that’s gone wrong. I’m not generally prone to that kind of thinking, but I am appalled at the loss of manners and civility. At first I thought it was simply the Republicans because Trump encourages such antics, but when it appears in the Democratic Party too, I’m afraid it’s a general loss of civility. Who among us was raised to boo at a speaker? What happened to courteous attention. When Bernie followers even boo at him, we’ve reached a low point. How can I teach my grandchildren manners when they have these examples in front of them? (Actually my grandchildren are much more polite than the people at the conventions.) Maybe it’s a crowd mentality?

I wish we could figure out a way to reward good manners and punish rudeness, but you can’t legislate these things. Thankfully tonight the convention seems more unified—hope I haven’t spoken too soon.

I read a lot by people who post on Facebook that they will never discuss politics because you can’t ever change anybody’s mind. That may be true, but I read a moving post by a woman who said she feels she has a moral obligation to speak out against the threat that Donald Trump poses to this country and our way of life. So watch for me to speak out—but in civil terms.

No chatty blog post tonight

No blog post, no pictures tonight. I came home last night from a wonderful five days on the road with Jordan and Jacob. We visited my oldest daughter and her husband in Austin and then my brother and sister-in-law, their local daughter and two granddaughters. Wonderful family times, and I have great pictures to post. Too tired to post last night but had great plans for today.

This morning, at 3 a.m., a hailstorm hit with pea-sized hail; woke me but I went back to sleep. At 7 a.m., another one hit, this with golf and baseball-size hail. I was out of bed quickly but hesitant to explore too much—I could smell wetness in the house. Jacob woke about 7:30, looked out the front door and exclaimed, “It snowed! 90 degrees’ yesterday, and it snowed.” Of course, it was hail completely covering ground, street, everywhere you looked.

We explored—and found the sunroom was awash. Everything was wet—ceiling, floor, furniture, and—worst of all—most of the books I’ve written over a long career. A crew came to help—Jordan, neighbors, my contractor and the roofer. They have saved what they could and I have filed an insurance claim and called in a restoration company. But it’s bad, folks, really bad.

I am reminded of what a minister once said to me. I had a friend who didn’t believe but so envied my faith and that of a Jewish friend that she said to me, “I just think I can believe, and God lets the tsunami happen.” I asked my minister what to say to her, and he said, “Shit happens. God shows us the way forward.”

 

The Great Couch Caper

 

The couch--in progress

When my children were all here in January for rodeo, we came to a collective decision: I do not need a playroom any more. The grandchildren are all--sob!--too old. I need a "hang out" room. Accordingly, after much web searching, debates, etc. Jamie ordered a 45 inch TV--back-ordered--and a LoveSac sectional couch. Six sections.
It arrived this week in 18 boxes, some of which had an oh-so-appropriate puzzle piece on the box. The first shipment was six large heavy boxes which I found sitting on the porch--apparently the Fed Ex guy didn't ring the doorbell, etc. I was napping but didn't even hear Sophie throw a fit--and she always does that. I managed to get three or four in the house by turning them end for end and then once they were inside, sliding them--which involved picking each up enough to get it started sliding on the rug. Neighbors Jay and Susan arrived to help bring the rest in and open one to look at what we had. Gray cushions, base, etc.--I had ordered beige, but this was an okay color--a little dull, but okay. Jordan arrived, and we did a tandem operation--I opened the cartons (carefully) and she moved them to the former playroom, now to be called the sunroom because it is all windows and has the most delightful light.
By that evening there were five adults (including me), four dogs, and Jacob helping to assemble the couch. We got it into a rough position and quit. I ordered hamburgers.
The next day 12 boxes arrived. Fortunately I caught the Fed Ex man as he was delivering, and he cheerfully brought them all inside for me. I opened four square smaller boxes and found slipcovers--the beige I'd ordered in a nice durable, washable fabric. Put those carefully aside, because each bag is labeled as to what part it fits. The other eight boxes were big and unwieldy. I opened four and gave up. Christian arrived, unboxed them all and carried them into the sunroom. I defrosted frozen spaghetti sauce (homemade and very good, if I do say so). Meanwhile all the empty boxes are stacked in my dining room. Christian said, "I hope you're not having a dinner party soon." Words of encouragement.

This morning, Jordan looked at what remains to be done and said, "Let's take a vacation." But by this afternoon, she suggested I cook supper tomorrow and they work on the couch. Jay said he'd come over on the weekend if he had help. It will get done, and it will be wonderful--I know it will. Meantime I'm exhausted.
Wonder if I could order BBQ for tomorrow night?

Redecorating blues

My current couch--recover? replace? forget it?

 

I have lived in my house twenty years, seen four children grow and leave home, and welcomed seven grandchildren. In that process, my furniture has taken a beating--I swear I never let my kids jump on couches and beds but some of my grandchildren seem to think that's what they're there for. Inertia has held me back--I couldn't get a fabric I like as well for the living room couch, those barrel chairs are a little worn but not bad, it would cost too much.
A couple of factors got me thinking about sprucing up the house. The grandchildren no longer need a playroom--their play is not stuffed toys and a huge hobby horse and things like that--we sold most of it at the last of Jordan's garage sales (oh, how I wish it were the last but I guess I meant most recent). I did hang on to a trike that is at least 80 years old and obviously repainted with loving hands. It has a huge hole in the solid rubber front tire--I can still hear three-year-old Maddie when she looked down and said, "There's a hole in my tire," drawing out the word hole in dramatic fashion. It was given to me by dear friends, now gone, when their grandchildren outgrew it but it had belonged to the grandfather and probably someone before him. Sentimental value. Meantime, my grandchildren's idea of toys is mostly iPads and X-Box or at least cell phone.
At the same time, my grown kids said if I want them to visit often, I need a place for them to hang out (I am blessed that they always want to be together whenever possible), so I'm converting the playroom into a sunroom--it gets marvelous sun all day long and much of the year is downright hot in the late afternoon. Eleven-year-old Eden (who is going to be a designer, architect or fashionista--I don't know which) did drawings, and she was the one who envisioned a 45" TV (ordered and to be delivered Monday) in the middle of the bookcase, a couch across from it, and comfortable chairs. Plus we'd take the doors off the storage area below, add adjustable shelves, and showcase the collection of my own books that are now tumbled in there. This would seat eight or more, and for the overflow, there's a round oak table with four sturdy chairs and a few straight chairs with cane seats--hard to protect from children.
The first plan was for a sectional which sounded fine until I started looking at sectionals--I wanted something bright until I figured out a red sectional would overwhelm the room. Since I hate shopping I did all my browsing online. I decided if  I was updating the look, I should have the living room couch reupholstered. Today Jacob suggested putting the current couch back there and buying a new one. We decided it sounded good, but we already have one objection already--the current couch isn't comfortable and we should stick with sectional.
Then my neighbor said the only way to do things was to empty the living room and start over--rearrange but not discarding. I sort of like the way my living room is arranged right now. Truly, my head is spinning.

Making cozy even cozier

Ever since Jordan was a teen-ager, she loved to rearrange furniture. She'd move beds, dressers, everything in her room by herself. Today she delivered an ottoman I'd bought at a garage sale and just kind of set it in the living room. I wasn't sure where to put it, but I said we would need to rearrange. She clapped her hands, said "Where's the wine," and began moving furniture.
The ottoman that started all this now sits in a corner and has a permanent occupant--my stuffed cheetah named Clifford. (Of course there was the time I dreamt Clifford was walking around the house--Jordan said, "Shhh. Don't tell anyone that!" and then she told everyone she saw.)
Jacob got involved in the first step--sweeping behind the pieces she moved. Then he took one side of each chair and helped position it. Decided he loved the new look, but we weren't so sure. We sat, looked, rearranged. Finally we settled on an arrangement we like well enough or me to live with it for a few days and see how it wears.
One thing I really like is that we created a cozy conversation area in one corner. Of course now one chair partially blocks a doorway, but we'll just have to watch where we're going. Jacob delighted in demonstrating how someone could fall over it. Note the three items on the table--Jordan's version of feng shui. There should be wine glasses--hmmm, wonder where they went.