Halloween

Halloween.  I just can't help myself.  I love this holiday.  Of all the holidays, it brings the kid out in me the most.  I suppose that's because it's mostly a kid's holiday.  And I suppose it's because there's a big part of me that is still mostly kid.  Whatever the case, Halloween, well, it rocks.

(images from HGTV)

Halloween has a distinct presence.  It really does.  And no, I don't mean that candy is lining the grocery  shelves, and any store you walk in you have a moving witch, zombie, or mummy singing to you  (although, these are present).  It's more than that.  It's sort of that leaves are falling, crisp air feeling.  Growing up, we always referred to it as "Halloween smell".  I haven't noticed it yet this year, but with the cold snap winding up, I'm sure it's coming soon.  And when it does, I'll call my dad and let him know I found "Halloween smell", like every other year.

Speaking of my dad, I think it's because of him that I love Halloween so much.  Aside from taking me trick-or-treating every year, my dad is a heck of a ghost story teller.  Seriously.  This is more of a year-round thing, not exactly Halloween specific.  I remember as a kid always asking dad to tell me a story.  It was usually when we were stuck in his old truck, waiting for rain to die down so we could run inside to the house.  I didn't mind.  That meant story time.  I can remember one vividly.  The short of it (really, straight from Cliff's notes) was that a man's truck had broken down in the snow, he abandoned the car and hiked miles through a forest until he came to an old farmhouse.  The house was empty, but there were notes left everywhere with instructions for passers-by.  The house was stocked with food and water.  The man waited out the snow storm for nearly a week in the house, keeping fed by the stew and warm by the fire.  Once the storm had finally cleared, he decided to head back to his truck.  As he made his way back to the edge of the forest, he turned to get a last glimpse at the house... and... the house was gone...all that was left behind? his footprints in the snow..... :)

Dad also used to sing me this silly song at Halloween that still makes me giggle.  He'd do it in his best ghoul voice.  "Don't you laugh when a ghost goes by... or youuuu'lll be the next to die (muahahaha).. they'll wrap you up in a bloody sheet, send you in a hole 7 feet deep.  First your eyes will pop out, then your teeth will decay, and that's the end of your perfect day... muahahahaha".  Ha ha.  Ridiculous as this song is, it's all part of the silly fun.

(Don't laugh, he'll get you)

Something else I love about this time of year?  I can watch the movie "Hocus Pocus" and not feel like a total loser.  I could hang out with the Sanderson Sisters on the 4th of July.  Hilarious.  Come little children, take thee away... I've been there, thank you, find it quite lovely!

(Disney's Hocus Pocus)
While we're on the subject of Hollywood, I'm glad the world is finally catching on.  Vampires rule.  They do.  I've always been somewhat of a Vampire nut.  That old show Dark Shadows? Loved it.  Not that I remember any of it now, but I do remember it being one of my favorites.  Every year I begged my mom to take me to see Dracula: Ballet with a Bite.  When I was home with chicken pox, Kristy Swanson and Luke Perry were permanent fixtures on my TV.  Now, it seems vamps are everywhere.  From True Blood on HBO all the way to Twilight in the theaters, people are loving fangs these days.

(ABC's Dark Shadows, circa '80 something)

(Century FOX Buffy)

Not all of my Halloween fun comes from childhood.  In college, it was mandatory to take a British themed lit class.  How horribly boring does that sound to you... Well, lucky for me, I noticed that one of the themes was Gothic Literature, and the teacher?  None other than Dr. Ridenhour (who happened to be my English 101 prof as well, and excellent!)  Gothic Lit meant we got to read classics like Dracula, Jekyll & Hyde, Carmilla, The Island of Dr. Moreau, etc. etc.  And while others were trying to stay awake through Shakespeare or Charlotte Bronte (rest in peace), we were watching clips of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" (the Giles, Cordelia, Faith version) and surveying spooky music.  Arguably the most fun I ever had in an English class.  Unfortunately for USC, Dr. R has moved on to another college.  But, you should check out his latest novel, Barking Mad  (get your copy here- http://www.typecastpublishing.com/barkingmad).   Witty and thrilling, and most importantly it will get you ready for "Halloween smell". 

(image from Typecast Publishing)

Happy Halloween!

The Pinnochio Room

The Pinnochio Room, as my husband described it while placing offers on the house and when we first moved in.  Funny how a few weeks of living somewhere can change the feel of a place.  Remember the anxious start of every school year,  "This is my new classroom? Will I ever get used to this teacher, this desk, this hallway?"  only for the end of the year to creep around the corner, the classroom almost feels like your second home (it's true- you know where everyone sits daily even if seats are unassigned, you know where the trashcans are, you know your teacher's outfits, you know the sounds of the eraser pushing to the blackboard and the humming of the overhead projector as it warms up), and you find yourself wondering where the time went? You're used to it.  It was home (well, sort of). 

In college, as my dad and his back well know, I moved every year. Every. Single. Year.  Always wondering, would the next apartment/dorm/rental feel like my own?  And eventually, it always did.  Hubs and I had been in the condo so long, we too wondered when the house would feel like our own.  I think somewhere between moving box 80 to the garage and hanging the first picture, we knew where each other sat daily, the location of each trashcan, each other's outfits, and the sounds of the birds chirping and the hum of a lawnmower mowing- you get the idea.  It's our home's end of the school year.

So, the "Pinnochio Room".  Here it is the day we moved in:

You see the reference, it's a room of wood, and it's caused so much conversation, I don't know where to begin.  It seems you either love it, or you hate it. I have tossled the question to paint/to keep for weeks. Luckily, I have Pinterest.  (and you should, too by now; it's such a great resource).  Pinterest inspiration of several Pinnochio rooms:

(image from Pottery Barn)

(images from Pinterest)
Love them, all of them.  And hubs does, too.  Once we started piling in our own things, adding lighting, and bringing in colors through pillows, blankets and a big area rug, suddenly "Pinnochio Room" has become "Coma Room", because it sure is cozy...

This room is still a major work in progress, but it's getting there (soon it'll be a real boy! err... room)

 And it feels great to say that we're used to it.  It's home. 

The Dining Room

I promised family that I would start a blog to be able to share all the renovations and changes to our home with those who can't be in Atlanta to see it ( and be here to help, ha ha ).  I was also inspired by a fellow art friend of mine from college, Melissa Spivey.  She's been keeping an awesome blog and detailing all the changes she's making to her lovely home so that one day she can look back on all of her hard work.  (You should check it out here- http://www.belowblueskies.com/).  So far, this blog has been for me to rant my random ramblings.  This will be my first official post on our own hard work.

The dining room.  To me, this is one of the most important spaces in a home.  I grew up in a house that loved to entertain, which often meant extending the leaf of the big ol' oak table, and getting out the plate chargers and name holders. Not to mention, I'm part of a family that gathers for Thanksgiving every year, with about 60 or so in attendance.  Not exaggerating.  Here we are many Thanksgivings ago, my first cousins and me (there are so many of us now between spouses and kids- it is hard to keep up)

So- dining rooms to me are a big deal.

I guess the only way to start is with a before shot.  Here it is the day we moved in (and I apologize up front for my camera... err iphone.  I don't own a nifty spiffy camera like most people in the blogging world.)

Not that I don't like burgundy/garnet (I am a Gamecock afterall), but perhaps I just don't want it splashed across my foyer and dining room. So, first thing was paint.  I tried out Benjamin Moore's Bennington Gray, which made its debut and exit on the same day.  It was much too gray for this space.  I went back to my trusty old friend, Coastal Path, which is also at our city condo.

Next up, the lighting.  I actually really loved the lighting that was in the home, but I would have loved it more if we had 15 foot ceilings and a huge dining room.  However, we have a cozy space that needed a cozy fixture.  This one was not doing it.

I read on Pinterest that you can spray paint old brass fixtures.  So, I scoured Craigslist and found an old brass chandelier for $30, including 8 black shades.  How could I miss?

Spray painted and hung: 

Then, I was on the quest to find a cheap but beautiful rug.  Rugs are expensive.  I mean, really expensive.  Especially big ones, which is what most people need.  I was determined to spend under $200 on an 8x10.  I had no idea how or if I could do it, but do it I did.  I was in love with World Market's Feather Rug.. but I was not in love with the price.  However,  I'm addicted to Overstock (http://www.o.co/)  and found if not THE feather rug, well a pretty doggone close companion:

So, 8x10 for under $200, mission accomplished. Hooray! Of course, my husband still says, "You paid WHAT!" ;)

Last weekend the hubs and I got around to hanging lanterns and drapery.  When I say we got around to it, I mean that he got around to the doing, and I got around to the instructing (what is it about power tools, manual labor, and husbands and wifes that just doesn't quite mesh?). 

Here's the hubs handy work:

And my PB Sadie Silk drapes (I'm obsessed, I know)

(image from Pottery Barn)

And last, but definitely not least, the furniture.  All handmade by who is arguably the best man in the whole world (sappy, I know).  My daddy! He made our china cabinet (pictured above), and is currently building us a rustic farmhouse table.  Table in progress...

I'll have these pieces forever and know that my dad built them.  Talk about a family heirloom.  I couldn't be happier!

This is my new favorite room in our home.  Everytime I walk up the stairs or through to the kitchen, I can't help but pause and take a look around. This room will soon be complete!

My ideas still to come...
End chairs parson chairs and palampore fabric:

(image from Pottery Barn)

and recovering the side chairs with this toile:

Suburbia

When the hubs and I first moved to the 'burbs, it was a bang-for-your-buck situation.  SPACE.  We knew that outside of the city, space would be granted upon us (and without the million dollar price tag that hangs on most houses in our old neighborhood).  What we didn't know was the other, let's call them differences, the 'burbs would be offering. 

I'll start with the doorbell.  But, let me back up briefly to life at the city condo.  There is no doorbell.  Anytime someone knocks at the door, they are selling something.  When you hear a knock, it's your goal to immediately turn the TV on mute, hold your breath, and wait until whoever it is ruining your afternoon to kindly walk left or right to the next condo, and leave you in peace. Don't even think about glancing through the peep hole to see who it may be.  They'll see your shadow.  Oh yes, they are onto you.  You might as well open the door, grab the China Dragon menu (the guy is about to it shove in your door anyway), and immediately place your order.  See, the mute, play dead, and wait system is much more efficient. 

Fast forward, back to suburbia doorbell.  The first weekend we were in our new home, amid moving in boxes, unpacking, barking orders at each other, we hear the doorbell ring.  It startled us both.  Really startled us.  We gave each other those "what the?" looks.  Immediately, the mute, play dead, and wait system goes into effect.  But we then realize, we're in suburbia.  It could be an actual person.  But our defenses were up, it's probably China Dragon, they found us. 

Against all city instincts, we opened the door.  There they were, our smiling friendly neighbors and harmless children.  With fresh baked pumpkin bread.  It was still hot.  I thought to myself  'holy cow, is this what a neighborhood is?'.  I shoved my city instincts down a bit further.. I actually liked this.  A few days later, another ring at the doorbell.  This time the HOA President, with biscuits.  So you see,  in the city, a knock at the door usually means a menu and a plea to buy a meal.  In suburbia, it's the actual food.  Point suburbia.

Next difference- noise.  In the city, it wasn't a Friday night without overhearing a party.  Throwing pillows over our head as we try to sleep, in desperate attempts to drown out the neighbor's efforts to pump, pump the jam (or were they trying to get that boom, boom, boom? I digress).  Months later and 16 miles north, we find ourselves hearing a boom, boom, boom of a different kind.  Instead of our usual retreat for earplugs, this one intrigued us.  We made like the-night-before-Christmas and arose to see just what was all that clatter? Opening the door to press our ears to the sound, we looked at each other with wide grins.  The distant sound of drums.  A high school football game and the marching band.  Boom, boom, boom.  Point suburbia.

Then there's the grocery store.  At our old store, employees were for the most part on the upside of 40, and usually foreign.  Clientele present after 8pm was definitely buying beer, and maybe Pringles and a Tony's pizza.  Our first trip to suburbia's store was after 8pm.  We were starving and on a mission for something devour-ready.  As we're making our way through the aisles, there's something odd.  Middle aged men, everywhere.  Grabbing a gallon of milk here, a stack of butter there.  It was obvious.  The after 8pm clientele in suburbia is married men sent out to buy something wife had forgotten.  And the employees.  Who were these mutant young looking people?  Where was the staff we were accustomed to? Upon further inspection, we realized who it was.  High schoolers. And speaking English.  How could I have forgotten? This was the usual demographic to fill this job in suburbia. 

That goes for the pizza delivery guys, too.  All of them.  High schoolers.

Suburbia.  16 miles north of our city condo, but what feels like 16 worlds apart.   We're all moved in, and we're here to stay.

An Obsession

Initially, this post was called "A Hobby".  A hobby: one of those regular activities or interests undertaken for pleasure... from time to time.  About two paragraphs into this post, I realized I'm not embracing a mere hobby.  No.  What I suffer from is an obsession.  And it's deep.

Pottery Barn.

How do they do it?  If all my thoughts on what a perfect house would look like, what a cozy room would feel like, and the type of place that would just scream "This is for YOU!", well it's anything and everything Pottery Barn.   Now, I'm not one that has to have a brand name, trust me.  I don't buy a sweater just because of its tag. The roots of this obsession do not stem from brand.  Unfortunately, my affliction is so much worse.  A retail store, beginning in a small shop in Lower Manhattan, spread across the U.S. and the world, with American made furniture and textiles, and a commitment to great design and function has somewhere over the years taken a tiny chip, planted it in my brain, and now controls my every design dream and thought.  Yes, another Pottery Barn Robot is made.  There are many of us out there.  We look like friends and neighbors, even family members, but at our core is a hunger.

You've seen the movie Pod People, right?

I can't remember the exact date I became a PBR, but I do remember the euro shams.  How could I forget?  I was on a hunt to find that perfect antique but modern bedding, that had the cozy feel of Grandma's, but modern enough to be a 20-somethings bedding. 

There I was, in the middle of a crowded Lenox Mall, heading my usual route up the escalator and out to the parking deck, when there it was.  In the window of the old corner location store was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen (seriously, it was my Forest meets Jenny moment).  Lights poured down on the interlocked cotton and linen fabrics.  I heard what I thought to be a choir singing "Aaaahhh".  (Although, now years later, it's more of a screaming "AAAAAAAH!" from an obsession that won't quit).

I couldn't believe it when I found it:

(image from Pottery Barn)

The Matine Toile Quilt.  Seriously?  Did you jump into my brain and read my thoughts when designing this bedding, Pottery Barn?  That's the only logical explanation.

These episodes have happened numerous times since then.  The most recent encounter I had was with shutters.  I thought one day, 'How cool would it be to find some old wooden shutters, paint them up, and place them behind a bed as a headboard?'.  Not even a month later, I'm flipping through a Pottery Barn catalogue.  What do I find?

This:

(image from Pottery Barn)

The Alden Reclaimed Wood Headboard.  Wow.  They had done it again. 

An obsession.  It's eerie.  My husband would say it's unfortunate.  My bank account would say it's murder.  My life coach would say it's goal achieving.  My friends would say it's laughable.  PBRs would say they relate (remember, we are walking around like normal people, you won't even recognize us for the pods, err robots, errr obsessors.. that we are... The only real way to detect a PBR? Her home is fabulous, her wallet is empty, and her husband is disheveled). 

I feel much better having shared this now.  They say the first step to recovery is admitting, right?  :)

(image from Pottery Barn)

The Hunt

House hunting.  They make it look so easy on TV.  You find a realtor, she shows you a handful of houses, and you fall in love (with at least one of them).  Instantly.  Easy, right?  The hubs and I recently went through this process, and after house number 73, reality in realty showed its ugly face.  No, this process is NOT easy.  And it shouldn't be.  It isn't just a house you are hunting.  If that were the case, maybe it would have been easier.  There are plenty of houses to be hunted.  The process should really be called roam for a home.  A home, you know, like mom and dad's.  A place to grow. A place for holidays.  A place for family.  A place where life, well, takes place.  And on house 73, we realized, roam for a home is not easy. But, we dared the challenge.  It's probably a good time to mention we were sharing the hub's bachelor pad.  All 900 square feet, one bedroom and one bath of it.  You see, we'd already dared one challenge, now on to the next.   We could do it; we had to!

And so, dare it we did.  Weekend after weekend of walking through floral wallpapers, braving our shoes to worn out carpets, meeting inquiries of musky smells (and those "I guess they have indoor dogs" head nods) (side note* you see enough houses, and amazingly you become chief expert on pet smell, mold smell, and dirt smell), traversing cramped (and often proving impractical) layouts, and surveying less-than-curb-appeal yards, roam for a home started to take its toll.  We began to wonder if Houston House would ever be.  We began to wonder how much Advil is enough.  We began to wonder if there were support groups for this type thing.  We began to wonder why TV shows painted such a pretty picture.  We began to draft hate mail to HGTV for such.  We then threw hate mail away. 

We began to wonder why, and more importantly, when.

What do you do when your goals seem unattainable? Or when you can't seem to answer those questions of why! and when!?  Well, in our family, we talk to the man upstairs.  And turn to friends.  Some of our good friends let us know a house right next to them was for sale when we first started the roam for a home ordeal.  And boy, are we forever thankful.  After viewing the house 3 times, and a whole week of back and forth negotiations, we finally had what we thought could be our home. 

And guess what, IT IS!