When I got married, I was told to prepare for the hundreds of little secret compromises that I would have to undertake. Come on you've read about them (or seen them on any number of lame fat-guy-skinny-wife sitcoms): the toilet seat that never gets put down, the swearing at traffic, the non-stop finagling for golf time. In my case, there were relatively few, with the possible exception of the giant television set in my basement whose sole purpose seems to be 'round the clock screenings of Carl Sagan's Cosmos. But for all the viewings of geeky docs, there is my husband's burden: he lives with a woman with quirky - nay,whimsical - decorating taste.
Most of my decorating projects are inspired by my weekly jaunts to the auction (Just to see what's there. Not to buy anything....) And while most are inspired by antique rugs or jewelery, I seem to be drawn to old, now-unusable everyday objects that can be re purposed into fanciful ephemera (nice Art News-speak, huh?)
Here is my latest. I found the numbers at a salvage place about an hour north of town. I fell in love with them and my friend Krissy helped me to find a few more at the local big boxes. Needless to say, I love it, my friends who come by love it. And my husband? Well, let's just say that he has retreated to his man room to kibbitz with the ghost of Carl Sagan.
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