I’ve never been a particularly domesticated woman. From the time I was a little girl, wanting to play house, I’ve been criticized and discouraged and even actively ridiculed – first by my mother, who wasn’t capable of rising above the criticism she’d grown up hearing, then by my ex-husband (gay men are invariably more domesticated than most women, anyway)
Compound this little deficiency in my nature by the fact that I fell and ripped a hamstring a couple months ago – sitting, standing (we dubbed it this week-end, un-sitting), climbing steps… ranging somewhere from very uncomfortable to downright agonizing!
My house was a nightmare –
Enter friends: Stephanie. Mary. Emily.
Stephanie lives in Indiana, we talk on the phone a lot. She sort of jump-started the domestication gene long-dormant in my pathetic psyche. She also sent me the most gorgeous teacup, a graceful elegant thing of such feminine lines and proportions that I can hardly take my eyes off it. The cup was part of her grandmother’s collection.
Mary lives in Texas. She recently sent me a set of dishes – red, Churchill dishes, again far more elegant than anything I’ve ever dreamed of choosing for myself.
Emily lives down the road in Charlotte. She gave me warm hospitality when I sang at the Eucharistic Congress last week, and I was so delighted with her little house, she offered to come help me with mine.
She came on Saturday. She was a busy worker bee, helping shift furniture, vacuuming in the odd corners I currently can’t reach, pulling odd pieces from hiding places and setting them in a place of prominence. She set me to sewing curtains (the machine broke, my curtains are being hand-sewn) and ordered me about with meal-making while she did a regular “House Invaders” job for me.
I LOVE my house now! One more room to finish on my own, and it will become a “formal” dining room –
Photos coming eventually, okay?