Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Walking on Water, Part II

And the Pied Piper said, "We're making water!!!"
And there was water.
Clear, flowing water.

"Retrospect" pedestal sink: American Standard. "Boardwalk" brushed nickel sink fixture: Moen.

Valentin, the tile guy, asked us not to get the walls wet
for 10 days so the grout boost would cure properly.
What? No showering for ten days?
I guess we'll just admire the new showerhead
while we bathe in the tub.

Subway tile: American Olean. "Boardwalk" showerhead: Moen.
 "Hotel" extra-long shower curtain liner, curtain rod, rings: Bed, Bath & Beyond.

"Boardwalk" brushed nickel fixtures: Moen.

Sorrow can be alleviated by good sleep, a bath and a glass of wine.
~~St. Thomas Aquinas

"Memoirs" toilet: Kohler.

The vintage terrazzo, circa 1970, provides seamless flooring throughout the house~~
 we'll never interrupt it with tile or carpet.
 And we love the automatic close on the lid of the stool!

The easy-breezy vintage jalousie window with etched glass
 means no privacy curtains are necessary.

Tray, dispenser: TJMaxx. Soap dish, sponge: Pier 1. Water jar: Pottery Barn.

And check this out~
I found a place for my proppy water jar on top of the tank. :)

Martha Stewart Living "Placid" mirror: Martha Stewart. Towels and hooks: IKEA.
"Sterling Blue" paint: Sherwin-Williams. "Retrospective" pedestal sink: American Standard.

Storage cabinet, towels: IKEA

It's difficult to photograph in this 5' x 7' room,
especially with reflective surfaces playing havoc with my automatic camera... 
However, smooth, shiny surfaces always dance light around the room,
 making a small space an airy place.
I could have waited for daylight for better photography
 but I wanted to post this before Thanksgiving.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Friday, November 18, 2011

Walking on Water, Part I

Okay, we're not seeing the water-world miracle quite yet...
furniture in the bathroom is scheduled for installation today.

A water vessel I've had for years might fit in...

The Pied Piper (our plumber) went out on emergency this morning,
leaving me alone long enough to open a can of wall color.
A pale blue I call "oxygen" will give this small room an illusion of fresh air and open space.
Yesterday, the tile man filled in the empty slot left by the removal of the old medicine chest
 and the owies on the damaged walls disappeared behind his orange peel finish.

Aiming for a classic, clean and serene style. 

As William Morris says,
"Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful
or believe to be beautiful."

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

The Hour of the Soul

It's 4 a.m., the hour of the soul,
the time I often return from the land of sleep
to feed my spirit with an hour or two of solitude.

It's a mystery...awakening. Is it done in a fleeting second or does it take minutes?
 As I rouse from my drowse, I'm conscious of consciousness, of memory, and thoughts.

I'm aware of my body renewed by rest, the quiet of the night, and the intimacy of darkness. I thank heaven and its sparkling stars for the physical pleasures and privileges of owning a bed, something so many in this world can't enjoy. Slipping away on cat's feet, I leave my sleeping companion behind and glide away to my solitary world before reality comes up with the sun.

 It's like the early morning call to worship in the chapel of an ancient abbey where scriptures are read by candlelight and hymns are sung in one-voice a capella, except this is a call to gather at Our Lady of Perpetual Blogging, Twittering, and Facebooking where words and pictures are read by the light of the computer screen. Where I go to hear a choir of voices...and to sing in response. To commune with creative spirits and offer prayers for virtual friends.

I'm not alone in my early morning romp. I have a sisterhood. Carmen, my neighbor on the left, doesn't sleep well now that Jack is gone so she roams her house in the early hours of the morning. Silhouetted in the unlit window of Jack's old room, she keeps his spirit close to her while she gazes at the moon. On the other side of my house, Barbara, another insomniac, brews coffee at 4 a.m. while she catches up on email. She says she often sees lights on at my house while she's wandering through her rooms. With a wink, she says, "We should get together for coffee as long as we're up!" But we never do.

We love our solitude, our time alone.
In virtuality.