Made some decor changes here at the farm last week, so, naturally, wanted to include you in the loop. New kitchen/dining chairs arrived for the Big House (which isn’t big at all, but it is bigger than the Tiny House, “Casa Chiquita.”) Four of the annoying slipcovered chairs we’d been slopping wine and gravy on for the past dozen years or so went to Reno, to the fabulous but still rather sparsely furnished condo of the amazing Mizz B. Those wrongheaded slipcovers will be bleached and stretched back over the chairs, for future staining and abuse by Mizz B’s band of artistic pals and wonder pets.
The new chairs, ordered sight unseen from Overstock.com (I told you how cheap I was, but you didn’t believe me!) came packed in enough foamy papery material to set the local ecosystem back a decade or so. Cardboard, lethal metal staples flying everywhere, styrofoam bits — a nasty business that took 4 of us a good bit of time to unravel and sort out. These chairs were pre-approved from online photos by Catherine Grison, by the way, in case you were wondering, as well as Kelly Greenwood, daughter and staff designer par excellence. Catherine had told me some time ago that the offending slipcovered chairs were blocking the chi in our dining area. We can’t have that. Our kitchen table is very much the center of this crookedy old farmhouse, where important magic goes on. Storytelling, life reconstructing, health analyzing, baby rocking, literary critiquing, world event discussing, bad joke retelling, singing, sniveling, laughing, what have you. So we couldn’t risk a blockage of chi. Nor could we continue to struggle with those damn white slipcovers, so chic and fabulous looking when clean, which are too tight for the chairs, and take a team of people and lots of cursing to get back on once they’re off. Not to mention liberal use of my favorite household tool: the bleach pen.
New chairs in place, 4 old chairs off to their new lives in Reno, the four remaining Old Chairs have now nestled into Casa Chiquita, where the chi situation is totally different, as is the frequency of use. It occurred to me to show them to you in their new spots when Destiny posted pix of a room she’s Pinterested, or whatever you call it, and it looked kinda like this.
We love having a place for our guests to crash, in the most positive sense of the word, especially as we hope it avoids the need for them to drive home — normally quite a drive from here, no matter where home is. It’s also swell to have a resting place for an oddball collection of items inherited from people we’ve loved: Aunt Frostie’s footstool and pitcher; Betty Reinhart’s sweet chair, and her grandmother’s quilts; my mother’s favorite book, “I Married Adventure“; my uncle’s suitcases; the saddle I bought at auction with my first horse, Miss April; and the pieces de resistance — Dynamite Bob Reinhart’s bear and deer skins. I know, I know, not everybody’s cup of tea. But there among the ghosts of our departed family, they seem right at home. Both The Husband and I descend from scrappy folks who walked/drove/hunted/fought their way West generations ago, so those bears and deer and coyote furs represent spiritual ancestors, too.
Here, then, are the updated pix. No stylists were harmed in the making of these photographs, by the way; nothing was buffed up or edited. The crack in Aunt Frostie’s pitcher has not been airbrushed out. The rug and mini-couch, which makes into a bed, are from Ballard Designs; the fish pillows were mail ordered, too, from Wisteria. Everything else is pretty much crap that I dragged home and repainted. Oh, the bed was purchased for this space. I tell you this because I have become especially irritated of late by snooty decorating magazines — not so irritated that I stop looking at them, mind you –who present rooms that you or I will never be invited into, nor could we ever afford.
So, come on in, and know that when you spill your moderately priced red wine on these chairs, we can get it out with a bleach pen. Know also that you need to put up with all the dear ones who are in permanent residence.
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