We are in the (continuous, ongoing, neverending) process of trying to spruce up an old house. Mind you, we have lived in this poor old house since 1991, and the baby that learned to crawl on these beat-up floors has gone away to college now. No excuses! The main problem is that I am always changing my mind, pressing my sainted husband into service with a hammer and paintbrush, and we have had this kitchen four different ways (at least) since we moved in. At one point--I hesitate to tell you this--it was hot pink.
This little shelf of pretty things is over my stove, and I love, love, love the way it looks. It’s just one small corner in an otherwise chaotic life, but it’s good, so good, to be busy and to have the dog happy to see me, and to have places to go and things to do, dinner to cook, school events to attend, gardens to plant. I can rest my eye on this little shelf as I dash out the door, spilling my coffee and leaving a trail of craziness in my wake.
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