My bestie Lynne and I had dinner at a friend’s place earlier this year. Their house was modern, impeccable and one of those take-your-shoes-off-at-the-door-type residences.
Mercifully, we weren’t expected to do so for this particular evening. I keep forgetting that clean homes have embraced this Japanese tradition, so I’ve not been keeping up on my pedicures. I don’t have Walmartian feet, but if they had to be exposed, I’d probably be in constant motion – almost tap dancing my way through the occasion – so no one could get a proper look at toenails with chipped polish and one-week hair growth on my toe knuckles.
I’m single – hand to God.
(By the way, do NOT Google ‘toe knuckles’ as I did, just to confirm location. Some of the images will keep you up at night.)
While we indulged in pre-dinner cocktails, I took a good look around. Not to the level of checking the medicine cabinet, but I clocked the arrangement of the couches, the coffee table, the bookcases, the objet d’arts etc. and wondered … where the heck IS everything?
There were not even drawers in the coffee table in which to shove scissors, rubber bands, half-eaten biscuits, a 7-prong charger with three lights that might fit something so it couldn’t be thrown away … Maybe they had closets crammed to the rafters with these items that surely every homeowner possesses.
As my suspicions grew of bulging cupboard doors in some hidden room, they offered to give us a quick tour of the house. Bathroom to bedroom to den to office … nothing crammed, nothing overflowing. Then it hit me: We were officially having dinner with The Minimalists.
I’ve learned, over many years, that human beings have different ideas of what makes them feel comfortable in their own home. In the case of these friends, all the ceramic elephant trunks had to be facing the same direction; any book taken should be replaced where it belongs; and plates, glasses and bowls needed to match and be positioned in order of dimensions. I envied the complete lack of clutter, but I also knew I could never live like that. I might be able to keep it up for a couple of days, but one night I’d leave a magazine on a counter and the flood gates would open soon after.
That, among countless other reasons, is why I’ve resisted living on a sailboat. Anyone who has, knows that keeping everything in order is vitally important. There is very limited space and a lot of furnishings pull double duty in order to conserve it. A table in the day might become a bed at night; the oven is also the bookcase; knives and forks are tools to fix the engine … You can probably tell that I’m not an expert sailor, based on these ridiculous examples. But in all seriousness, if you don’t keep things tidy – for example, cramming things under the table – then you won’t have anywhere to sleep.
Beyond how people use their living spaces, it’s amazing the range of decor, window treatments, paint choices and furniture that clearly appeals to them.
Me, I’ve always been a curtains person. I have never been a fan of blinds. It could be partly because: a) In the past, we had super-cheap versions at our rental property that had the tensile strength of toilet paper, so they kept breaking; or
b) I cannot seem to grasp the simple method of lifting/lowering a set without one side being stuck at the top, and the other hanging uselessly down. I lightly pull at the strings (or what’s left of them, after the cats have chewed through every single one); I gently and tenderly try to cajole them into doing what I wish; I try them together, then separately. But, no matter what I do, they simply will not cooperate.
I swear, Edie’s Decor needs to hold some sort of class for people like me. ‘Blinds for Idiots: A Simple Guide to Letting the Sun Shine Through’.
Actually, there is one set in our house that I can get to move up and down in sync – however, I strongly believe the horizontal slats are made of iron. They weigh a tonne. I have to wind the strings around my wrist, followed by my hand, then lean back about 45 degrees and pull with all my might.
Referring neatly back to when I said I had no sailing skills – if I had been part of an America’s Cup crew, operating those blinds would probably be a doddle. Every time I tackle them, it’s like hoisting some Goliath spinnaker in a brisk wind.
“I’m bringing her about!!!”
Lynne loves a good blind. I do not.
When it comes to wall colours, I confess I’ve always gone the Soft White to Dappled Ivory route. I think trying to decide between paint swatches is a miserable business, and I’ve never been ambitious enough to go, “Okay – the whole living room in crimson, with pink baseboards!” Our ceilings are quite low, so all we’d need is some plastic sheeting over the floor and up the sides and we’d have a textbook murder room.
I have seen some homes with brightly coloured or ‘accent’ walls, and they really look good. On the other hand, I’ve seen a few shocking choices that have sent me back to the bosom of Swiss Coffee and Bone Cream. The likes of Glidden and Behr must have an entire team of wordsmiths working around the clock to come up with these names. I mean, how many different ways can you say ‘Off White’? Visions spring to mind of crumpled Post-its with ‘Sullied Bride’, ‘Curdled Lard’ and ‘Hands Off My Mayo’ overflowing in the think tank dustbin.
When it comes to furnishings, I really like a big sectional one can sink into, and I must have an ottoman. How did I live before – sitting on a couch with my feet on the floor? Sheer madness! I also like big ‘occasional’ cushions, although why they’re called that, I don’t know, as they’re out all the time.
Functional items are key – things that make my sitting/lounging/potato experience more comfortable. I’ve long eschewed the beautifully decorated, but small, hard, nubby cushions that could be used as weapons, in a pinch. I also have to say that these and throw blankets look marvellous on a bed, but when you just want to get some sleep and it takes about 15 minutes to remove them all, perhaps they should just be saved for the photo shoot.
I had a friend come to stay earlier this year and, for a giggle, I got every pillow, blanket and cushion in the house and lined them up from headboard to foot. Martha Stewart run amok.
As she’d just flown 12 hours to get here, she briefly chuckled, then started flinging them in all directions as a police inspector looking for the dead body hidden underneath might.
I feel the same way about tucked-in sheets at a hotel. If I wanted my feet bent like a prima ballerina’s, I would have answered all those imploring calls for me to join the Bolshoi. I am not a sheet-tucker, and I’m not afraid to say it.
Yep, you can walk into two identical condos and they’ll look nothing like each other once someone has put their personal stamp on them. Artwork, pictures in frames, candles, vases … you never know what floats some particular homeowner’s boat. Different strokes for different folks.
Just answer me one question that has kept me awake, lo these many years: What the heck is with the wicker balls in a bowl?
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