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I Am Old and I Need Toile


Good Morning.

I used to get a lot of decorating magazines. I was started on a path toward being interested in home decor by a fabulous woman from Pittsburgh who made her living room curtains from burlap. They didn't smell too good for awhile but they

looked terrific. Another woman I knew loved purple so much that every room in her house featured the color in some form. It would not be my choice but the place was wonderful. Both of these women created comfortable spaces where you wanted to sit for an hour or three with a cup of coffee.


In the beginning of my subscription habit, the magazines had articles on how to do up a living room that actually looked like a living room. Some of them have gone out of business and have been replaced by others, but I have probably subscribed to every decorating periodical on the market at least briefly, including the high-end ones that present homes where no human being appears to be in residence. That seems to be the trend. Even the magazines that used to give off warm vibes with photographs of a dog camped in a chair and a pile of fresh vegetables sitting in a wicker basket on a kitchen counter

are now emphasizing rooms with a chilly, functional look. I don't like furniture that causes back strain or window treatments that look like a mathematical formula. I don't care to live with Martian-style bathroom fixtures and artwork on the walls that

would scare off an intruder.


I have previously discussed my preference for wing back chairs in velvet or chenille and oriental rugs, worn if possible. I am

drawn to mahogany or distressed pine that has a story behind it. I like accessories that warm up a room like books without the dust covers, copper on a pot rack, and anything made of pottery. I do appreciate a living room wall that is painted black as long as the couch sitting against it is good for an afternoon nap and there's something fun hanging above it like a large painting of a cow or a merry-go-round. A home is supposed to make the residents and its visitors smile, not frown and wonder if a robot is a more appropriate pet than a cat. It is supposed to be refuge, not a statement. It's supposed to lend itself to bowls of popcorn and grilled cheese sandwiches. Who eats a hot dog in a house that looks and feels like an ice cube? These outer spaces make me picture very thin people talking in monotones and see-through items that cannot rightfully be called chairs or tables. I do not see myself in such a setting; I'm not thin, I have an obnoxious laugh, and I like my privacy. I need to be surrounded by stuff that makes me feel safe, not plexiglass with no place to hide during a storm or after a root canal.

I get only one decorating magazine now, a publication that used to be full of happy places and people. Of late it has become

annoying. Please give me an article on cottages at Nantucket or a farmhouse in Provence, I plead when I fetch it from my mailbox, but I am almost always disappointed. Meanwhile I have just ordered some fabric for my bathroom in shades of earthy blue and cream with scenes of country life.


Best regards,

Elisabeth


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