Expert on the etiquette of perilous times.
Yesterday in church, I found this note, recorded from last year, in my notebook:
“I like to sing. It’s fun” Eden said to Christopher.
“It would be better if there were disco balls.” He’s never one to keep a good thing from getting better.
“Oh yeah! If they were pink and purple!”
They would have had a great time at the first Pentecost.
In Michigan you can never say with certainty when winter is over and spring has begun, regardless of what the calendar might assert. And yet in March, with the milder days and increasing sun, most of us find cause for hope, but this year Christopher found cause for mourning.
“My hope for having snow days is now lost,” he said to me out of the blue. I nodded thoughtfully and, I hoped, neutrally; it’s rude to rejoice in another’s suffering.
“Now I have to hope for bus accidents or whatever.”
OTJ has fallen but she will get up. As you can see, we’re in a bit of a transition. I want to spruce up the place, but am lacking in skills. Don’t have a plan for the header, but anything is an improvement.
The sun is shining today in Michigan, which is not to be taken for granted. I’ve been scurrying around the house and the big kids are due home soon, but I’m thinking about dressing in all my snow gear and finding a bit sunlight in which to lay out. My body is jonesing for some Vitamin D.
There’s much to say, and I will say it, but I have a date with my snowpants and the sun.
Eden turned 7 last Monday. That morning I asked her how it felt.
“I don’t feel different yet,” she said, “it takes a while to get used to.”
Yesterday we were driving when she said out of the blue, “Mom, I can’t believe the world never stops.”
I asked her what she meant.
“Let’s say you’re dead but there’s still things happening when you’re not alive. Somebody’s probably still playing, somebody’s still running and that’s never ever going to stop.”
I was quiet.
“It’s just something strange I think about.”
“It’s a deep thought.” I said.
“It’s a good thing to think about.” She said.
Well, the good news is that, barring the hanging of the closet doors, extensive caulking and a little touch up painting, the living room is finished and a lovely delight. I am thankful and truly surprised since I wasn’t sure how everything was going to look. I bought a couch off Craigslist about six months ago, grabbed a wool rug half off at Lowes right before Thanksgiving, then snagged a pair of chairs off Craigslist a week after that.
The couch spent the last month in the front entry, the chairs on opposite sides of the dining room and the rug was rolled up in the attic. Friday night David finished up the trim and yesterday afternoon Paul and I carried everything into the living room and arranged it.
The couch is a medium, brownish green, the chairs are a light camel and the rug is a light green, almost beige with lighter tones woven through. I chose a cream shade for the walls with absolutely no yellow or red in it and the trim is white. The floors are bamboo with it’s natural color.
In the weeks while we waited for the electrician, as we stared at the water-damaged tiles of the ceiling that was exposed after we removed the faux beams and first layer of drywall, I began to question the paint color. I had been wondering about the rug since before I bought it; not sure if it would work with the floor and the couch, but decided to buy it because of the quality and the price. I knew it would get us down the road and anything was an improvement on the ancient berber it replaced.
I thought the chairs would look good with the couch and hoped that there would be enough of a contrast with the rug, but it didn’t look hopeful. I planned to get some pillows or throws for the chairs to bring some color into the room.
Late in the game of redoing this room, I realized I didn’t have, what those in the business of personal training call, “a vision to lead me through the pain of transformation,” that is, the hope that it would all be worth it. I knew it would be better, and clean and new – which is NOTHING to sneeze at, I know – but I thought all the furnishings would look bland and boring or cold and unwelcoming.
But when we brought everything in yesterday, it all came together and rather than being bland it’s peaceful, which is exactly the sort of space our family needs.
My mom, who had stopped by to accompany us to the Christmas tree farm said several times, “It feels very calm.” That word has never been used to describe anything remotely associated with me and certainly not my décor, but she was right. I wanted to stay and keep putting things back, but we had an appointment with the Christmas tree farm – or so we thought – and the finishing touches would have to wait.