No matter where I am or in what financial circumstances I am, I make homes. Everybody has a knack for something, mine is to create comfort out of nothing. When I first got married in the 1960’s, I didn’t take photographs of my places. Later, when it dawned on me that I could do decor with a certain flair, I began recording.
Someone gave me a white sofa and chair once. Go ahead and laugh at the mother of two, and avid activist with a white living room. I still have a white living room, but for a while I had gold on grey, orange and plaid with wood, and other rather unearthly combinations because they were free.
My grandmother made homes out of nothing too. Her sofa was the box the grandfather clock came in. Grandpa’s chair was one that I now have in the bedroom, and the desk was one that she sent away to college with her son. The clock had value. It all worked because she had off white walls and a strong blue in all the accent pieces.
Now I create with the things other’s left behind. For me, all these pieces have stories that make me happy. Just for today it works quite well.
I remember Grandpa very fondly. This was his chair. Here’s Grandma Maudie upstairs in #20 talking to a crawling Milaka with Margot looking on. The chair was crème then. Then I am letting my hair down in the cottage after mother had made the chair blue. I gave the chair to a grown Milaka and she redid it in a dark paisley. When she lent it back to me, I slipcovered it in white. Oh, how things change yet the stories stay the same. In the end it is a turquoise and crème plaid with G’s Pakistani camel saddle pad in a matching cover. Only now to I note that the edge piece didn’t get stuffed or padded this last time.
Perhaps I record them because I don’t want to lose everything ever again. Maybe I just love the stories.