A Work In Progress - Adding Color

Working on my center hallway. At first, I filled it with old varnish brown pieces from the Decatur house. The hall was dark and a bit sad looking.  I loved all the other rooms, but looking into the hall pulled my spirits down. It was lovely, but a little too traditional for me. The rest of the rooms were filled with light and art and my favorite old painted pieces of furniture. I dug out a few cupboards in storage and purchased a few more items, the blue table, sweet white chair, and a white bench that I will post later. Now I am tickled pink with the results. It is hard to photograph the space because of the high ceilings and darker woodwork, but all in all, I think you can catch a glimpse of how it is shaping up

While I love all my old oil paintings, I decided to add a bit of an edge to all the sweetness in the hall, now that it was so light and airy. Old lithographs, from the 1980's when I was buying and selling more modern art, found their new home on these walls. Again, more whimsy than serious art, but colorful and playful, which makes me smile.

 

 

And finally, I am obsessed with all things garden related so the six-foot garden gate feels right at home as you enter the front door. The St. Augustine sign brings back sweet memories of my mother and the house we had in St. Augustine, Florida, that she loved. The oil painting is full of color and life and at the very bottom, in tiny scrawl, the word "Magic". Which I believes sums up living in my 1906 cottage. It is magical.

 

 

 

What If?

This has been a most peculiar year for me full of good times and some creepy ones. My house dreams have shifted due to health concerns. This August I will be 68 years old and I still wonder about changes and ask myself "what if"?

Stairs. Stairs are no longer part of my home plan! I watch HGTV with all the young couples wanting that two story foyer with stairs leading up to a landing and the rest of the home. At my age I wouldn't, couldn't, do those stairs. I ask myself, too, why any young couple would want them. I can't image lugging a baby on your hip, wrapped in your arms, up that many stairs. I'd worry that there would be so many instances for accidents as the child aged. Of course, I don't have children, but I do have dogs. My dogs couldn't go up those stairs even if I could. 

And those huge Victorian homes I tagged endlessly on Zillow. They are off my list. Three levels? I'd live on the first floor. My dream was a small town outside of Atlanta where I could feel more a part of a community. It didn't dawn on me that I had my own large community of friends close by my home. I was ripe for a change - any change.

What altered my dreams this year was a hip replacement surgery gone badly. Last year I had my left hip replaced and all went very smoothly. Except for the fact my right hip kept me in so much discomfort I still hobbled around. This April I decided to go for it and have the right hip replaced. It needed to be done and now the experience is somewhat behind me. I am on a walker doing physical therapy. Next week I hope to start driving again. My Chihuahua sleeps with me, but the other four dogs have to wait a few more weeks before joining us in the bedroom.

If you have read any of my posts over the years you know my dream has been to move. Don't ask me why - except I thought the final step in my widow healing was to have a clean slate. A new house - make that a new old house. With a bit of land for my dogs and maybe some chickens.  Where I live now was named number 79 in the nation of great places to live. Development is everywhere. All the young folks are paying big bucks for houses that have been built with the old cottages have been torn down. Developers keep calling me asking if I want to sell. In fact, I had my house on the market twice in the last few years, only up for 30 days each time when I realized my hips would make a move impossible. I had offers but declined and took the listings down.

My surgery perhaps was the universe slowing me down. Making me think more about what I have. And a discovery on how many friends I have that stayed close to me during my bad days.

The hip replacement went well, or so the surgeon thought. That afternoon when the physical therapist tried to get me up I was in too much pain. An x-ray showed somehow the femur fractured after surgery. Two days later, I had another hip surgery and the femur was stabilized. I then went to a nursing home for rehab (lets not do those details) for almost thirty days. Friends came to see me daily which kept me from sinking into oblivion . . . the nursing care was so horrid. The physical therapists were excellent and got me on my feet, but the rest of the experience there . . . well, I thought about writing a cozy mystery where I got to kill off a nurse or two, all in good fun, but a way to deal with my lack of care.

Next, the surgery site became infected and I went back into the hospital for another surgery, two weeks on IV antibiotics, and physical therapy. Those folks were wonderful.

What was to be a two week process, including rehab, took almost seven weeks and three surgeries for me to get home. I've never been happier to see my house, my dogs, and my life back before my eyes.

I still think "what if" . . . but on a different level. My birthday in August will be a celebration of life, of gratitude, and of friendships. There will be a party on my patio. My pet sitter, who is my friend, and has her suite in my basement, although she is gone most nights with other pets, has a Pinterest board for my party. A farm table, lights in the trees, a bit of music. Perhaps this will be the house I love forever. Time will tell. My dreams now are of fixing this place up again. Painting the walls, getting the gardens in shape, and flipping some furniture to create a space that feels different, but is still the house that I shared with my husband, learned how to be independent when I was left alone, and a safe haven for my dogs.

"What if".... I concentrated on writing my new book. "What if" .... I started doing lectures and book signings.  "What if" .... I could work in my garden again. And "What if" ... I just learned how to relax and enjoy my life without having to push so hard for changes. I always worry I should be doing more, be more, find my path on my own.  I am rethinking everything now. Seven weeks away from home, worried my infection would never go away, my surgery site never heal, I had lots of time to wonder about the next phase of my life.

And "what if" my dream home is really a rambling ranch with a farmhouse feel and I am already living there? The Cottage In My Mind has been in front of me all along.


 

A Merry Little Christmas

Bray is in the holiday spirit. And so am I and the other hounds. Did a little decorating to have a merry little Christmas. Not so easy putting up the jolly holly with my other hip still needing surgery, but I got my favorite angels up, a few English mice, and new purchases from my two favorite antique shops - Antiques in Old Town and Vintage Village.  I'd say we are pretty festive here at home!

Vintage handmade Santas purchased on EBay years ago.

 

 

My lovely tree in a divine bucket, a purchase from my friend My Vintage Heart a dealer at Vintage Village. This was a must have. Too lazy to haul my huge tree out of the closet and this one fit on my wonderful painted chest in front of the window, a purchase from another friend, Cheryl Alexander at Antiques in Old Town.

 

 

Mantel full of old and new treasures. The Peace sign from Vintage Village but all the other treasures are full of memories from years past.

 

 

I tucked this little book in the wreath. It is from a trip with my mother to London in 1989. Every year I have a small vignette that includes this book and three mice that came home with me from that trip, too. 

 

 

Santa Mouse from England

 

 

And Mr. & Mrs. Mouse, also from that wonderful trip!

 

 

I love my old garden statues. They dress up nicely for the holidays!

 

 

My front door always displays this vintage trellis, but the addition of a French wreath and jingle bells add holiday cheer! Again, all from my two favorite shops!

 

 

 

This looks like cement but is lightweight. Love the old chippy paint!

 

 

Close-up of the wise man and his lamb.

 

 

From years past a prim angel handing over an old hand painted sign for Saint Augustine! The sign is up all year long, reminding me of my mother who still lives there!

 

 

This year round prim angel keeps a watch on my house!

 

 

 

My garden theme continues in the dining room. A small white tree with blue Poinsettias  and a prim holiday angel in an antique flower box.

 

 

 

A close-up photo.

 

 

 

Another angel sits with gardening books and other garden treasures.

 

 

And is there anything prettier than a tree lit at night, no matter the size or type!

 

 

Under the tree an old mother and child statue from the days I had my shop in Old Town Lilburn. I priced her so high she would not sell. She reminds me that at Christmas, and all year long, how lucky we are to be loved and to share our love with friends and family. The true meaning of Christmas.

 

 

Wishing everyone a wonderful holiday season filled with love!

 

 

It's Almost Been A Year Since My Last Visit Here!

 

Miss Bertha worries that she can't climb stairs to get to the bedroom!

Wow! Where has the year gone? So much has happened and my idea of the perfect home has changed drastically for me. Reality bites. Ouch! I am looking at buying a small yellow ranch house in Athens, Georgia, after drooling over turn of the century Victorian homes in Florida and Georgia. Why the change and what the heck has been going on?

First, last fall I had my house on the market for less than thirty days. I realized I could not move - not my home - but my body. My left hip caused me so much pain I literally stopped in place trying to walk from the jolt that went through my hip and down my leg. At that time I so wanted to move to Florida, to be closer to my mother, and to a little town forty miles from her that offered a wonderful pink Victorian home, three levels, mostly renovated, for a price that was hard to believe. Being in metro Atlanta, it is hard to find anything I can afford now. I could not afford to buy the house I am living in now if I weren't already here for so many years!

 

My Florida dream house currently pending sale to another at $149,000.  Seriously . . .

 

The holidays were a bit of a blur since I also popped something behind my right knee that kept me off my feet for a week, all my party plans on hold as I sat with six dogs, ordered food to be delivered, and sobbed with every romantic Christmas movie Hallmark had to offer.

 

I still got on the computer, Zillow my constant companion, next to the dogs, of course.

 

In January, my right hip started bothering me. Walking on a cane I felt like I was a hundred years old with both hips hurting. Still I postponed surgery. I hate the idea of surgery and I needed to figure out who could come take care of my six-pack of hounds while I was gone.

 

Finally I gave in. Surgery was scheduled for May, but I had almost two months to think about it. To distract myself, I pulled a book together, a picture book about one of my dogs, Miss April in Paris, who dreamed of visiting the city of lights. With the help of my talented sister/designer ( PD King Design) the picture book became a reality and posted on Amazon a few days before I had my surgery.

 

 

Available on Amazon. A portion of all sales goes to animal rescue.

 

While my dog dreamed of Paris, I still dreamed of a cottage style house, a farm house, a Victorian beauty. I wanted an acre or two, with maybe some chickens, or a goat. I still dream of that house, but have found a house that suits me well. And once again, I am off my rocker while still on my walker recovering from hip replacement surgery.

 

I found my perfect little ranch house in Athens, Georgia.

 

 

A far cry from the pink Victorian from last fall, but I do love this house. It is perfect for me and the dogs. Maybe I've watched too much HGTV while stuck at home recovering. OMG what they find behind walls when renovating older homes. The last thing I want - more house problems. Perhaps that Zillow ad on HGTV got to me . . . You are not just buying a house, you are buying a lifestyle. (The wording on TV may have been slightly different, but you get the idea.)

 

What do I want for my lifestyle? I don't want to be secluded on a farm away from civilization. How do I run get dog food at midnight? And I don't want stairs. Yes, I am still having trouble with stairs, but I will mend. I have dogs that could not go up stairs and I want them sleeping with me. Right now I yell "bed!!!!" and six dogs race down the hallway to the bedroom. They are waiting with wagging tails when I appear. How would some of them get up a flight of stairs . . . they wouldn't. So, nix the stairs, I'm down to all one level.

 

I have so many other dreams aside from my house fantasy, the cottage in my mind has changed in shape and appearance. I want to write, paint, make jewelry, do shows again, have fun with friends, perhaps attend classes at the University (when you get to be my age you can audit for free!) and find a way to be out of the house more, instead of constantly dreaming in my head!

 

I spend so much time figuring out where to put my stuff (and lots of that stuff is left over from my antique shop, still trying to thin it out) how to get rid of the last of my late husband's stuff (my three outbuildings are full of office desks from thirty years ago, paint cans, insect sprays, and rotting garden chairs from as many years back). I am weighted down by stuff, stuff that doesn't matter to me. I still love the stuff I love and will haul as much as possible to a new home. But I want to feel lighter in my house so I can enjoy everything on one floor. The cottage above still gives me as much square footage as I have here, minus the basement I can't even get into at the moment. It is perfect for me and the dogs. With four bedrooms and three baths, it will be perfect for friends and family to come visit, too.

 

Now it is up to the universe. I am ready to go. My house just went up for sale. It is a crazy thing to be doing this now. I am over one surgery, but still healing, and I may have to have surgery on my other hip. I am on a walker and can't bend down yet. But I believe that things happen when they should. I've done my part, now let's see if the time is right.

 

A fortune cookie at the beginning of the year had a fortune I liked. By the end of this year your dreams will come true. It took me a few months to figure out just exactly what my dream was. My dream versus my fantasy. There is a difference.

 

I want to be in my new home and walking with my new hips. It can happen. Anything can happen. Perhaps the universe has something entirely different for me. Time will tell. But for the moment the cottage in my mind is a little yellow ranch house that makes me smile thinking of a new start.

The Voices Are Speaking Again, Whispering To Me

There Is A Voice Inside Of You
That Whispers All Day Long,
"I Feel That This Is Right For Me,
I Know That This Is Wrong."
No Teacher, Preacher, Parent, Friend
Or Wise Man Can Decide
What's Right For You- Just Listen To
The Voice That Speaks Inside.

 

Shel Silverstein

 

 

 

 

The voices are speaking to me again. Whispering. The cottage in my mind, that siren that won't let go, has beckoned me, teased me, just as I thought I'd settled down. I am up on Realtor.com looking at houses late at night, wondering if it is time for a change.

 

If it were only so simple to decide "I feel that this is right for me, I know that this is wrong".

 

Late at night it feels so right, yet in the morning sun, as my day begins, and the dogs and I walk into my back yard, the voice is hushed as I breathe in the sweet morning air and quietly think to myself, stay, perhaps anything else would be wrong.

 

I know what triggered this latest round of voices. The loudest voice was my own crying out, Nooooo! The French drain that went in last year, and has kept water from seeping into my basement, failed a week ago. All the Georgia rain, pounding hard on my roof, on the ground, relentless in the mid afternoons, brought two things, one oh so right, the other, oh so wrong.

 

My roses burst forth in a beautiful display of pink. A magical moment when the new buds opened up and my world was rosy.

My basement started to leak again. I watched as the work was done a year ago and my handyman did a splendid job. I chose him over a large company that would have done the same repair, the only difference, jackhammering up my cement floor to put in a drain and a fan, for ten thousand dollars. My handyman's work mirrored the work in their brochure. I did not want a drain. I wanted the water to stop. 

I may be cursed with this problem forever, water trickling into my basement. I went to Home Depot and purchased a small shop vac. It will do the job a drain would, and for much less. It was thirty dollars. My buck stops here.

That small puddle on my grey cement floor started a conversation in my mind again. Perhaps it is time to go. 

The voices took me to Florida this time. To be close to my family, to be in a small town close to the water, to redefine who I am before more time passes.

My birthday is just around the corner. This year for all its promise, gave me moments of self-doubt. Surgery in February kept me too quiet for too long.  I will be sixty-six in a blink of an eye. I worry I am not where I am supposed to be. I wonder if I'm too old to make a huge move. I question if I really want to.

The never-ending question that haunts me the most, do I need to leave this house I lived for thirty plus years, twenty-five of them with my husband, to take the final step to find myself. I am happy here, safe, in a lovely town with great friends, but I can't leave those questions alone.

Houses. My sirens, my ghosts, my passion. I started this blog to come to terms with my dream of an old house. I thought I'd settled in to a life here. Now I wonder . . .

My first night up on Realtor.com again had me downsizing to a smaller house with all the square footage on one floor, with less age problems. As true to my nature and the house demons that haunt me, the cottage in my mind grew to enormous proportions, to a huge gingerbread Victorian house with a second story.

A new business, a small art gallery, a place for writers to meet, rooms for family and friends to come visit, the houses below could accommodate all.  The repairs could be worse than what I dread  here now! But a dream is a lovely place to start to figure things out.  Maybe for me it is the questions, not the answers, that are important. I believe that in questioning our lives we find what is important to live life to the fullest, to answer what is right  for me and what is wrong.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The one constant in any cottage dream - a yard large enough for six dogs to play and be safe. I do have my priorities straight there! 

 

My David Austin Rose Is Blooming!

 

 

 

 

Won't you come into the garden? I would like my roses to see you. 

Richard Brinsley Sheridan

 

 

Nothing says cottage garden more than roses to me. I want old fashion English roses that look like the roses in magazines, climbing over arbors, twining through picket fences.

 

My wish came true today. In a small way. But big enough to fill my heart with the beauty I covet. And it is growing in my back yard.

 

Finally.

 

My very own David Austin rose is in full regalia with blossoms and buds ready to burst open at any moment.

 

Now, if I were a true gardener, I could tell you the name of this rose. But I don't have a clue. It was purchased twenty years ago from a catalog. The photo was one of many that I had trouble deciding on. I knew pink was a must.

 

It took years to bloom. The rose is planted next to the back of the house. My late husband built a huge trellis for me. The vines took hold of the wood railings and started to climb high. But the rose never had a single flower.

 

Did you fertilize it? you might ask. My answer is no. I did nothing to help this English lady blossom.

 

I just waited.

 

And wondered.

 

Back when my husband was alive he was not happy with the bush. It reached out far into the yard with huge thick thorns that stuck him as he rode by on the lawnmower. There may not have been flowers, but the branches had a life of their own. He pruned it back a few times and tucked the  branches back on the trellis, hoping to contain it. Sometimes cutting it back further than he should at times when pruning was not recommended.

 

Still the rose bush held its own coming back each year. But no blooms.

 

The year after my husband died, I had to put a French drain in next to the foundation of the house. There was water in my basement. The trellis was moved. The rose stayed in place.

 

"Cut that rose bush when you dig the ditch and it is off with your heads!" I told my handyman and his crew as I wagged a finger in their faces.

 

The rose survived the French drain.

 

It bloomed the following year. And has had a rose or two on it each year since.

 

This year it is taking me by surprise.

 

Huge blooms. Many buds.

 

My rose bush. Neglected. Managed to grow despite adversity and is now a thing of beauty.

 

I know there is a life lesson there.

 

For now I'm just going to watch with awe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Won't you come into the garden? I would like my roses to see you.

Richard Brinsley Sheridan

Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/roses.html#8L4DMRokLgFK2TEA.99

Won't you come into the garden? I would like my roses to see you.

Richard Brinsley Sheridan

Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/roses.html#8L4DMRokLgFK2TEA.99

How Does My Garden Grow?

Obviously Mistress Mary had someone helping her in the garden, looking that lovely and clean, her linen clothes impeccable  . . . or all she did was water her plants. I have had two Monday mornings out in my yard, weeding, planting, hauling debris in the proper paper sacks to the curb for the trash to pick up, all the while . . . looking like something that had rolled in the mud.

I garden like I paint.

Half of what I do lands on me.

Perhaps that is part of the fun. Maybe Mistress Mary would not look so solemn if she allowed Mother Nature to make her a little dirty.

Then she would be grinning like I do when I finish my rounds in the yard.

This year my resolve is to get my gardens in shape. It started last spring with a picket fence out front. A stately, yet cottage style, picket fence in natural wood and a  lovely garden cement maiden that would make any yard proud. I had help planting a few Knock Out roses, a few large Hydrangea plants that cost more than a meal at a fine restaurant, but a feast for the eyes and soul, more than any entrée I've devoured. (Although I do enjoy the instant gratification of a wonderful meal in a lovely setting with a glass of wine shared with friends.) The garden bed by my picket fence started to take shape.

Imagine how excited I was to see my roses start to bloom a week ago, their pretty faces peeking through the pickets of my fence. I clapped my hands with joy and did a happy dance. I decided I needed more roses, more flowers, more sweet charm.

I found roses one rainy afternoon that spoke to me as I went through the garden section of Home Depot, looking for plants as table decorations for an writer's event I had volunteered to do the floral table arrangements for the following week. I decided not to buy cut flowers at their expense, but to pay for the flowers myself, buy something I could take home after the event, and plant in my yard.

The flowers would be a lovely reminder of the friendships from that evening, but it would also get me off my lazy butt to plant in my yard. You just can't leave plants in the trunk of your car for any length of time! So the following Monday found me digging in the dirt.

I had the time of my life. The soil was easy to work, it had not gotten parched from the heat, but was delightfully damp from all the rain we had. Did someone say use gloves? I never do. I love to feel the dirt between my fingers, makes me more one with nature. Also makes for a heck of a lot of scrubbing to get nails clean again. I dig deep and claw at the ground to pull old roots, ivy, and anything in my way.

Life is changing for me again this year. I am growing, reaching in new directions, just like my roses. I've weeded out what needed to go in my life so I can branch out to do more of the things I want. I am a hanger-on, it is time to let go. Antiques have always been a love of mine, and they still are. But I want to buy for myself when I get a whim, not buy for resale. So I've closed my antique booths and the words antique dealer are off my resume, replaced with  . . sometimes antique dealer. (I let go slowly!)  My selling will be private when the mood strikes. Not having a booth to tend to will give me time to work in my garden, write my books, relax with the dogs.

Letting go of things can be difficult, but if you choose wisely, what goes, what stays, the feeling is euphoric. Or maybe it is just the feel of the soil, the sweat from working hard, breathing in fresh air, exercise, all the things that make you feel physically great, and one with the universe.

My universe sends me signs. I swear the roses spoke to me as I packed the soil around them.  Plant more is what I heard. You'll find me next at a favorite shop that sells fragrant herbs. What is a garden without Rosemary and Lavender?  

A few photos of my roses. Small, lovely, but my little garden that I will tend to with joy! It is a start . . . and with everything in life, the first step is starting. Stay tuned to see how we grow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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!

 

 

My Faux Farm

Sometimes a house dictates what it wants to look like. My ranch house told me it wanted to be a farmhouse more than a cottage. I think in my heart I wanted a little farmhouse too - one full of cottage style with a touch of whimsy. I think I've achieved my goal on the outside. At night when I drive up - the solar caps on the fence posts lining my driveway wink at me as if to chuckle about the house's new look. A neighbor stopped by last evening as I was watering my plants. She wanted to know if I just moved in the neighborhood. I refrained from laughing. I've lived here thirty years. She loved the girl pulling the cow and wanted to know where to buy one. Shhh. I'll never tell. I don't want to ruin the neighborhood with too much silliness. My house has enough for all to enjoy.

Below are some photos of what we look like with our facelift!

Street view

 

 

 

Garden Lady

 

 

 

 

One of five Knock Out Rose bushes

 

 

 

Lady on wall by front window

 

 

 

 

Crusty metal flower hung on chimney

 

 

 

 Front door - new awning

 

 

 

Back gate, outhouse shutters, hen house, and egg sign!

 

 

 

 

And just as you were saying, how tastefully whimsical - Elsie appears in front of my gas meter!

 

 

I think I'll stay put for awhile!