A Skip & A Hop From Madness

Dreaming In Brown

(photo Pinterest)

 

I woke up today to a dark sky and rain. We've had beautiful spring-like weather the last week, a huge contrast to the horrible winter snow that kept visiting my neck of the woods. Soft pink blossoms are on my fruit trees, a few daffodils have poked through the weeds in my overgrown flower beds, my dogs ran joyfully through the yard. This morning, six dogs stood in my kitchen doorway with me as we looked out at the wet patio. Only one dog would venture out, the rest turned and trotted back to the sunroom. I can only image how this day will go!

My coffee was ready so I filled a cup and sat down at the computer. Yes, I failed to mention, the dogs did get fed. They do not allow me to do my thing until their thing is done. Their thing is dog kibble before my coffee. The rain is making me feel restless. Is it time for change again?

I took a sip of my lovely warm coffee, looked at the dogs sleeping on the couch behind me, the chair next to me, and Chloe, the little Chi, tucked behind me in my wicker chair. Then I went to Google and typed in Pinterest. I needed eye candy to brighten my morning. What I got was a heap of trouble brewing as the Cottage In My Mind started to change its style. A thought came to me as I looked at photos - not of my beloved old painted furniture - but of  brown furniture as my antique dealer friends and I call it. Not lovely soft pastel cupboards, the paint with a patina only age could bring - but wood, stained lightly, darkly, with only a patina that age could bring.  Ah, is there anything better than a patina from age. . .

A thought crossed my mind briefly. Why not have an estate sale - sell everything - and start over? A second thought followed that. . . . I have finally lost my mind. This is the second time within less than a month I have seriously thought about a different theme throughout my house. I wrote about a more colorful bohemian European style change on my Sparkle Blog titled Post-Op Delirium. Maybe that title spells out what is wrong with me. I had surgery mid February and am still in a holding pattern while I mend. (I am fine thank you if you asked - just can't move furniture, work in the yard, and do the heavy things that tire me out so I stop thinking of how to change my house!)

There is a truth in all of this that I need to recognize. Perhaps you have the same problem with things that excite you. Mine is decorating and houses (oh yes, and six dogs, how did I forget?) with others it could be clothes and shoes, or men, or travel, whatever your passion is. If you love something is there ever enough?

I remember my first house, a charming forties bungalow, I loved loved loved it, until I filled it up. I needed more rooms. I still had 'stuff' - but I had no space. For some stupid reason, I never worry I don't have money. . . but I do panic when I run out of room to put things. There is always a piece of furniture, a photo, that triggers, not just the yearning to own it, but a series of other items that flash through my brain, to design an entire room around it.

My psychic shopping experience, I used to label it. Back when I did antique shows, and still had space to add things to my ranch house, I could see an antique and within the week, I found and purchased everything I needed to set up my booth or redecorate my house. I would be out on an errand and suddenly a shop would catch my eye and I'd think, I need to stop there. I'd pull in and find just what I needed to complete the room in my head (which has now grown to the cottage in my mind). I was convinced it was a psychic experience, because I'd find things when I hadn't planned to shop. Yet on days  I set out to look for a treasure, I'd find nothing. That lasted for a few years.

I thought my talent for psychic shopping had left me. Until. . .

It happened this spring when I did my ranch re-do. Yes, my handyman did the physical changes, but I knew I needed to swap out a few old pieces for a few new old pieces. I had a dresser in mind I'd seen in a book, a sweet Eastlake piece with a tall gingerbread trimmed mirror. I dreamed of that dresser. I never thought I'd find it.

Then one afternoon I went to a different town to shop with friends. We'd been to three shops and nothing appealed to me, nothing exciting, nothing to buy. Our last stop sparked something in my brain (deranged as it is) that made me know this was the place I'd find what I needed. The first piece of furniture as I walked into the shop, was a version of that Eastlake dresser. I bought it. (FYI, so you know my crazy runs deep, it is in my back shed. I have no place for it. . . just yet).  Two booths later, I found the perfect pieces for my kitchen. Bought them too. I acted like a rich gal rather than a nut case with no money, but big ideas.  The lady at the desk treated me with respect. I dropped a bundle that day. Pleased I'd found exactly what I needed, I had to return to pick up my purchases a few days later. I looked and looked, wanting to find something more that I loved (those of you addicted to the chase will recognize that feeling). Nothing. Nothing excited me. Nothing made me think . . . maybe. My psychic shopping gene found exactly what I needed for my kitchen (Okay, and a piece I didn't need, but dreamed of!) and then it was over.

The purpose of this post, rambling on like it is, I've managed to get my desire for change under control for the moment. The estate sale sign is back where it belongs - hidden far from my view. The rain is still pouring down, the sky a little lighter, the tension of being slightly bored, recovering from surgery, wanting to do everything, and not able to do much at all to move things around in my house, has been replaced by something I can handle. Food.

I wonder what I can eat now. Is there something fun in the fridge?

Sometimes a bit of craziness is a great way to pass time. Dreaming is a good thing. But I do know, eating is my answer today. Excuse me while I head to the kitchen. Oh look, there are two lovely painted cupboards against the wall, that I found against all odds, but thanks to my psychic abilities. I love love love them.

Silly me. I love things just the way the are in my house. What was I thinking?

 

My Happy Dance

 

I haven't given up on the farmhouse either.

If you are going to dream, take it all in!

 

 

OK, I Lied.

A display cupboard that followed me from shop to shop, and is now in Monroe at Hodge Podge Art, Antiques and Interiors. Don't ask me to sell it.

“I'm done buying furniture!”

Those words flew out of my mouth as I closed one of my antique booths a few weeks ago. I didn't want to deal with moving more furniture, so I sold below cost, and gave away many items. In less than twenty-four hours my space was empty. All handled with three phone calls. Another dealer even swept the booth floor for me after all was gone, as a thank you for her bargains. I never stepped into the shop, except to pick up the small old green washstand I wanted to bring home, after everything else was gone. The relief of not having to haul things again made sense to me. I lost money, sure, but I did have a check waiting for me the first of this month. Some of my dealer buddies who read this will laugh. They know me well. They know my crazy buying and selling habits

Been there, done that, got a T-shirt. I really should wear that shirt. This is how I've always done business. Good thing I had a full time job when I started this insanity I label 'antique dealer'.

Smalls have never interested me. I love old furniture. The bigger the better. (The disclaimer here, I am an art addict, we'll talk about that another day!)

Over the years I have bought my share of old wonderful cottage cupboards and tables. I've never sold one for profit. I cling to it until I have to let it go, then a dealer friend takes it from me, and I sigh watching it leave. Sometimes I'll buy it back, only to repeat the process.

Big old cupboards painted in soft colors; green, pink, blue, and white. Great farm tables in pastel colors. Old paint that crackled from age naturally, and when touched, small dried droplets flake to the floor, and smooth old paint that felt slick and cool, under the touch of your hand. I love them all.

Old paint. Pastel paint. Dark paint. Paint weathered over the years. Doesn't get any prettier in my book.

When I find a piece I love, I buy because I am smitten. I pay too much, if I mark it for sale at all, I price it to high. Then I work hard to find ways to keep it.

Two words helped me put off the inevitable. Display piece. That's a term that has cost me mega bucks. My shop in Lawrenceville (and before in Old Town, Lilburn) was full of old white cupboards, not for sale, but for display. They followed me to Monroe, and sit proudly in Hodge Podge Art, Antiques, and Interiors, surrounded by vintage clothes and stuffed with old western belts and purses. You won't find a price tag on them. Don't call to ask me how much? My answer is the same, for display only.

My house is full. My booth can't hold another cupboard. Like a drug, I swore off furniture. Regularly. For a few weeks. Maybe longer.

Then yesterday, I went to an art exhibit, but stopped into a shop I love that was right next door. One of their display pieces I've coveted for years, sported a price tag. A huge old white paint primitive cupboard. I stopped dead in my tracks. My heart rate flew into stroke pace. I am glad the cupboard was tucked in a back corner so no one saw me snatch the price tag off like it was free money in a street gutter.

It was full of charm, the paint chipped so perfectly. It was the type of farm cupboard that dreams are made of. Worn and friendly. Condition is shakey at best. It had been cobbled back together. One quirky corner was replaced on the backside. Two doors opened to reveal a few deep oversized shelves. I think it could hold a TV, if I tried. But I have a piece that I love for my TV. I didn't care. It was for sale.

Mine. Finally.

I trotted up to the front desk, flopped the tag down, and, knowing the shop policies, pulled out my check book, and spoke.

"Layaway, please."

I could have paid for it, but what would I do with it? There is no room at home...not yet.

"I'll get it next month. That way you don't have to unload it today."

The shop owner smiled as she wrote up my ticket. She knows my buying habits too well. I used to be a dealer in her shop a few years back. When I left, I left her half my booth.

I danced out the front door to meet a friend for dinner at our favorite Mexican restaurant.

Seated in our booth, I ordered a Margarita.

"I've got to tell you about my new cupboard. Just put it on layaway!"

She shook her head as she laughed at me. “I thought you swore off large pieces of furniture."

I was about to pop a chip, dripping with salsa, into my mouth, but took a second to answer her silly statement.

"I lied!"

I know myself well, and this won't be the last time you hear me say that.