The latest question from the contractor is whether we want barn doors or pocket doors between the kitchen and the living room. Barn doors are advised due to the thinness of the walls and the inability to hang things. But I’m pro-pocket doors. Specifically, ones with panes of glass so I can enjoy my morning coffee from my breakfast nook while still keeping an eye on the living room for activity.
I’m aiming for a classical princessy feel; arches, paned windows, with darker wood accents. Not pinks and frills, but a touch of elegance. Not like a tiara with rhinestones, but a chic bang swoop into a barrette. Not a tutu but a pleated skirt. Livable, not pristine.
My Mom had a pristine sitting room in my childhood, with two light blue couches that were firm and taut as bodybuilder stomach muscles. We never sat there because it was too sterile, and even though they weren’t wrapped in plastic like so many of that time were, it was close. At the ends of both couches were glass elephant figurines brought back by my Navy grandfather from Vietnam, standing guard like lions outside a stately building. Also hung was a large portrait of a tiger, further protecting the space, so that my mom could sit on her royal throne, a way-too-springy rocking chair, with a pile of Danielle Steele books close by.
That was my Mom’s room, and it felt a tad uncomfortable. Shoes were prohibited, and any sort of play was too. Within a month of the new carpet being installed, eight red dots of permanent ink on the perfectly vacuum-lined carpet appeared. With them, tensions grew as accusations flew. My brother and I denied any involvement in the indelible mark that no manner of scrubbing could clean, leaving the room forever tarnished.
Remembering the feel of that room, the tiptoeing fear while in it, leads me to now create spaces for people. Spaces that are inviting, comfortable, and make everyone feel at home. That’s what I’m creating—a home.
And I hope I do a good job.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 