PLAIN PLANES, PLEASE

 

We live in a little "Ranch" house with a split personality.   One of the main reasons we bought it was that the entire basement had been fully carpentered into technically five rooms---a big "den" space with room for a big dining table, a breakfast area, two "don't count to a Realtor" bedrooms, along with a laundry room with room for our freezer,  and a fully-tiled bath.   I mean "fully"---the very first owners owned a tiling company, and walls, floor, and shower are still shining with fabulous green tiles. ceiling and floor---you could hose the entire place down if you wanted to.    

The house came with fairly lots of Eighties carpets in all the upstairs; over the years we removed them all to uncover the honey-colored hardwoods.  Oddly, there were wonderful "bespoke" draperies on the five windows in the living room, and even when we bought it in 1997, a pristine Sixties Autumn Gold kitchen---counters, fridge, stove and linoleum.  And another kitchen downstairs---just plain green this time, with gleaming maple cabinets and room for our six-burner wide-oven black cast-iron stove, Miss Frankie.   The owners said that the wife liked to entertain her big family, but "not mess up the house," and thus all the gatherings were held downstairs, where everyone could come in the back door and straight DOWN.  

I had already noticed that there were no light "fixtures" as we knew them in any of the rooms---just a square, flat pane of glass screwed in the ceiling to hold several bulbs, which you couldn't change without a step-ladder.   And the walls were remarkably unmarked, as well, but we put that down to having a great plasterer when they repaired any nail or picture-holder before they showed the house for sale.   

But there was another explanation:  The wife hated the thought of anything hanging from the ceiling, or  on the wall or tables or a counter-top.  And she said so, frequently that one time I saw them at our little HouseWarming celebration---she went through the whole house with a frown on her face, and told me, "Well, it's not to MY taste, but if YOU like it . . ."     I did and do, all these years later.   And we took great pains not to burden her with such an unpleasance as our cluttered house thereafter--just wouldn't have been kind.   

                                           

I'd bought a fabulous chandelier on FB marketplace right before COVID, and just left it sitting in the box for these five years, and so the folks who re-wired the whole house last August hung it for us, to shine and flourish its pink tulle bows , and our Memory Tree remains decorated and lit year-round.   Four exquisite pastel silk Cheongsams, each a work of embroidery art, that I found in a pile at Goodwill hang on satin hangers over the guest room curtains, and not to mention, but I will, the pink Nutcracker banners in the dining room, the over-stuffed pink chair befitting Mole's wee abode, the brooches and necklaces and all sorts of twinkly things sprinkled around on windows and lamps.   Just looking into our front windows with all the glitter and sparkle would probably make that poor soul take to her bed.