At first it was a toss-up between the dining room and my bedroom. Then I realized I like all the rooms. Like my mother used to say, “Don’t make me have an opinion on that.”
The Dining Room
I thought about the dining room for my favorite first. However, nothing much goes on in that room, kind of lonely. I think dining rooms are some of the prettiest rooms in a home.
Entertaining is so not me. I enjoy having one or two people over, but not 10 at a time. It makes me anxious because I feel I’m being judged.
Did you think the Cornish hen was undercooked? Where did she get that dreadful light fixture? Is that rug really a design of different birds? Things like that. My insecurities.
My bedroom wins as favorite. This is where I spend quality time. I feel safe from all the craziness of our world. I love it here.
I guess before I go further I need to say Paul and I don’t share a bedroom. Some people think this odd.
Some say they wish they had this arrangement. It is not an unpopular concept. It works for us. It’s my woman cave sans refrigerator.
The room is painted purple. It is not big — it’s cozy.
There is a secretary desk with drawers (a piece from Paul’s family which he refinished, beautiful!). A chest of drawers. A full bed. A big blue chair, with petite wooden side table. An ottoman.
A wicker five-shelf corner piece with three containers of loose change. Do people even have loose change these days? There’s a water fountain in case I’m in the mood to hear a stream trickling.
There’s a black with sisal rope cat condominium. Sage comes in a lot of mornings between 4:30-5:30 meowing to be fed.
While he’s at it he oftentimes scratches on the posts. I actually get up and feed him. It’s true: cats have staff.
A wooden desk chair, which has two stuffed teddy bears seated on it — one from Paul and one from my mother. Everyone needs a teddy bear — or two.
Some years ago now, our elderly neighbor had a stroke and was dying in the hospital. She couldn’t talk and could barely focus her eyes —but she managed to look at my face when I was talking with her.
On our visit, I took her a teddy bear. Later at the funeral, her son and his wife told us she held onto that teddy bear constantly.
They commented on how she was taken with it. Such heartache losing someone. We think of her often. She is missed.
Continuing . . .
Five pictures on the walls. A floor lamp. Two mirrors. A blue French bulletin board with pictures and cards of cats. A muted Indian pishwa over the bed.
It might be a hair crowded in here, but I enjoy being surrounded by my much-loved things. It doesn’t look like a hoarded room or anything.
I have a HD TV, but it’s not smart. I have an old boom box. It plays cassette tapes and CDs. Most of the CDs skip and that’s a drag.
I have a desktop heater and cooling mini fan. My laptop stays here. And one of my most cherished things — a compact noise canceling machine. Neighborhood and inside sounds can become a bit much.
I have a blue lava lamp on the dresser — for real. Who has a lava lamp — raise your hand? Sometimes I burn incense — not often.
I have two good-sized windows with a nice view. When I sit in bed, I look out and see a mixture of green trees and usually lots of sunshine. Occasionally, a red tailed hawk will land in a tree.
Where I Hang Out
My bed is the place to be — more room to stretch out with my stuff. I have a huge fleece throw I use as a bedspread. Yes, I’m using it in the summer, but Ellie and I like it.
It is marketed as a healing throw. Covered with positive words. I’m a sucker for that kind of stuff.
I like writing on my iPad mini here; a notebook at the ready, along with a colored pen. Something useful might pop into my head — Ha!
My dumbphone is within arm’s reach and sometimes my yellow camera. Do people still buy cameras these days? Just curious because of the camera feature on smartphones.
My Kindle e-reader should I want to read. TV remote. One of Ellie’s toys is typically in the bed, too.
The nightstand generally has on it a Cherry Coke Zero or plain Coke Zero (yes, colas have their grip on me) or an Orangina. A small lamp, a clock, and a wonderful cat calendar.
For the most part, I’m dressed when sitting here, though not always. Some days I just stay in my jammies, bed unmade — that’s a special treat.
Please don’t get me wrong. Most days I make my bed — but it might be around lunchtime. I was raised to make my bed every morning and I used to.
Sometimes when I play music, a song comes on I really like. Surprisingly, there’s enough room in here that I can dance. Every so often I cut a rug for a moment and get back to what I was doing.
Not so long ago at Lisa’s gym a song came on her playlist that I absolutely loved. I stopped what I was doing and just started dancing. It’s just the two of us there.
Lisa was a bit startled. She was laughing and amused at the shenanigans.
At Christmas she gave me an orchid-colored t-shirt showing a girl dancing and in big black letters Dance Like Nobody’s Watching.
That’s exactly the kind of dancer I am. Love dancing. Love that shirt! Love Lisa. She’s on The List. I’m learning as time goes by there are bunches of people on The List. How could I be so blind?
Lisa’s a proud mother of two young sons and an excellent personal trainer. She’s a couple decades younger than I.
She doesn’t go easy with me. She pays no attention to age. It’s all about what the body can do.
The workouts can be tough. Today I did a few new moves. One was plank to side plank, then a push up, rotating sides. I kept saying, Is it uncle yet?
She has new moves every time I go. Have to admit there are days when I’d rather not go. Lisa’s great, and I’m glad we’re friends.
Our street did not used to be so noisy. When we first moved here, there were no Amazon, FedEx, and UPS delivery trucks flying up and down the street.
More landscapers. I don’t think there’s anything as loud and as hard on our ears as a leaf blower. Enter noise canceling machine.
Let’s not forget the chain saws, water pressure machines, lawnmowers, airplanes, and trash collection behemoths. I know we need these things, just wish they made less noise.
I appreciate quietude.
Recently a family of six moved in across the street. One is a little girl of maybe six or seven. I have never met her, only waved. She’s quite friendly. Such a contented child she seems.
We see her running up and down her driveway. Then we see her on the way to a friend’s house a couple doors down every so often.
She’ll be barefoot, or wearing rubber rain boots, maybe flip flops, and she’s singing. Moving merrily along her way.
A child’s song. No lyrics. Just vowels and consonants. More than a hum. Something akin to do-re-me in singsong fashion.
She’s just as carefree as you please. We enjoy her singing, so innocent and sweet. She adds value to our lives.
And so it is …
Ah! There is nothing like staying home, for real comfort.
Did You Know?
Bob Dylan had a cat named Rollin’ Stone.
(courtesy of Amazon Music X-Ray)