Finally, Proud to Invite You Down

When we came to look at this house six years ago, the owner showed us around the basement as you see it here and proudly exclaimed, "My wife just did all this sponge painting...isn't it great?!". Um, no. In fact, I thought it was hideous, but I also didn't think a bit (OK, a lot) of sponge-painting on a house that was otherwise livable (don't bring up the pink bathroom; it's an eyesore, but it works fine) should be a deal-breaker. And furthermore, I told myself that it would be easy to paint it a different color. Please start laughing now.

That's right, apparently "painting" and "easy" aren't words that go together for me, because the only painting that's happened in the interval between our purchase of this house and this very moment has all been done by my mother.


She's amazing, don't you agree? And I'm an idiot for not enlisting her six years ago as soon as we moved in. However, rather than berate myself for the years lost in grey sponginess, I'll just look ahead to warm, cozy, inviting, friendly hours and days we will surely spend in this haven of "Earthenware".

THANKS, MOM...and thanks also to Dad...all of our "C" (that's 'crap,' you know, the stuff that makes your life annoyingly clutter-y but you can't quite get rid of it) is now nestled in the rafters of the garage in the little attic he created up there. Or it might be on the shelves he built. Or it might be in the new-found organization in the laundry room. But it's not in the meticulously roto-tilled section of the backyard, because that's where the garden goes. You better come by and check it out, seeing is believing!