Some of you may have heard that we've had a little weather here, a blizzard with hurricane force winds - a snowcane. That little doozie kept us indoors for a couple of days, but add to that the previous 38405 days of REAL Winter weather and you'll understand why I had to recreate my environment by redecorating. I had to simulate actually being somewhere else that isn't my home. So I did what everyone does now when things get too crazy and mental health is threatened. I went on Pinterest and created a
Here was the place my decorating ideas would live until I could get up off the sofa to attempt a few. After browsing the site for a few hours, successfully forgetting all about my life in the off line world, I decided that I would become a bohemian. You see, a bohemian is basically a gypsy, later referred to as hippie, and these people do not get down when the weather's bad or if the economy sucks or if grey streaks are taking over their hair. They don't care if all of their love-children, spawned by different nameless ones that they loved simply because they were the one that they were with at the time, are still living in their basement, texting madly about anything other than employment. Bohemians are natural, transient, spiritual, usually intoxicated people who live in colorful places with rugs on the wall, a hooka on the coffee table, and incense burning in a bowl full of crystals.
And all I needed to achieve this sense of wildness, was a simple redo of my home interior. So I gathered all my houseplants and let them know that they would not be vacationing on the porch or the sunroom anymore, but would have their own spot near a window in the dining room turned solarium. Then I hung stuff. Yeah, hanging stuff is key - all kinds of stuff, mostly stuff I already owned once before in the early 70's. Tapestry was hung, incense was burned in a sand filled birdbath, sitar music was played and pillows finally found their rightful place on the floor, a place they have been trying to live ever since I decided my sofa was too plain without the addition of some color and texture.
It was a magical experience. I found myself gazing intently out the window as the snow came down, fascinated by each lone and unique flake, suspecting the patterns were part of the secret language of the ancients. I lit candles to the sun gods and to the fierce goddess of the sea. I sipped herbal tea and left the spa channel on my satellite radio all day long. Television, once a survival tool, became the obvious weapon of control of The Man, spreading propaganda and consumer brainwashing. I wrote poetry instead, and of course, pinned daily, finding joy in places with peeling paint and very used furniture.
Dave, a lover of Nag Champa, is a very good sport about all this, preferring it to weekend visits to the mental health facility, although I suspect he is worrying about the real possibility that he will be sleeping in a hammock one day, or taking long road trips in a painted van with too many other people we met on the way.
But, we survived the snow-cane and that's all that matters. Right on. Peace and love. Everything is beautiful.