Tag Archives: a room of one’s own

A Room of One’s Own

Virginia Woolf once wrote, “A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.”

Well, now I have one less excuse to write my Great American Novel.  Here is my room:

It's so CLEAN!!!!

It’s so CLEAN!!!!

This is a short list of  things that will not be allowed in my room:

  • Sticky fingers
  • Legos
  • Nick Jr
  • cymbals
  • whining
  • kvetching
  • malingering
  • moaning
  • farting
  • dirty dishes
  • Gogurt
  • any of those TV shows with Hitler or aliens or Hitler’s Aliens
  • Juice
  • Glitter (with exceptions made on a case by case basis for drag queens)
  • Glue
  • Glitter glue

Any stains on the carpet will be made by ME.  Any books left lying around will be left lying by ME.  If the window is left open, it was left open by ME.  The only person flopped out on the couch in front of an open window with a book…shall be ME.  I will NEVER walk into the room and find anyone else already in there because no one is allowed in this room except by express invitation from ME.  Seriously, I am going to put a sign on the door like a teenage girl.

My Grandmother Eunice's platform rocker. I loved this chair when I was little because it was low enough to let even the shortest legs reach the ground and rock.

My Grandmother Eunice’s platform rocker. I loved this chair when I was little because it was low enough to let even the shortest legs reach the ground and rock.  Not that any short legs will be rocking in it anytime soon…

A short list of things that will be allowed in my room:

  • daydreaming
  • napping
  • lolling about
  • lollygagging
  • ruminating
  • vegetating
  • cogitating
  • staring
  • lounging
  • sprawling
  • contemplating
  • musing
  • pondering
  • mouth breathing

This morning, I snuck down there for five minutes to sit in Grandmama’s chair and look outside in peace.  Out one window, I could see three fat birds waiting in the sourwood tree for their turn at the feeder and the moon hanging white against the morning sky.  It was quiet enough in my room to hear the moon.

Once I get a couple more bookcases in there, I will officially have more bookshelves than books for the first time in my adult life.  I hesitated to put a TV in there–it’s a sanctuary, after all–then I thought about being able to watch a movie with cussing and/or kissing whenever I wanted to.  I’ve got a table that will be my writing desk and a futon for flopping.  An old traveling trunk that Richard found in a dumpster for my coffee table.  His grandmother’s floor lamp from the 1930’s to read by.  A painting of a mother and child that G gave me a few years ago.

That shelf?  That shelf is high enough that I can put precious things OUT OF REACH.  There’s the print of a sleeping puppy’s belly that I bought in an antique shop in Bath, England.  Tiny dachshunds I picked up in a model train store in Aachen, Germany or some at the Lakewood Flea Market.  Copies of Vermeer paintings I brought back from Amsterdam.  And a sampler I found in my Aunt Mary Fuller’s things after she died.  She was Grandmama Eunice’s younger sister and a real sweet lady.  It reads, “Give to the world the best you have and the best will come back to you.”

Grandmama Eunice's baby sister, my Aunt Mary Fuller. left this sampler. She was a sweet lady.

Grandmama Eunice’s baby sister, my Aunt Mary Fuller. left this sampler. She was a sweet lady.

Amen to that.  Now get out of my room.

Bottom Shelf

Nothing like a barfing kid to get me motivated to complete a home improvement project!  G doesn’t mind tending to sick kids and I don’t mind letting him express that side of his Latin machismo.  That’s why I was downstairs this past Sunday painting a bookshelf that has been asking for it for ten years.  Our house was built in 1961, so it is eat up with paneling.  I think the color is called “Trailer Park.”

I’m a DIY dynamo…but only when the short people are barfing.  I put the primer coat on back in February when Vivi had a stomach bug.  I let it cure until June so it could really soak into that paneling.  Then she threw up again and I grabbed a leftover gallon of paint from the garage and ran downstairs.  I spent three hours dabbing and dribbling and sweeping and swiping.

My arm was all cramped up by the time I got to the bottom of nine shelves.  As I’m contorting myself into an angle from which I can paint the bottom of the bottom shelf, it dawned on me that I might could SKIP that step.  I tried to imagine scenarios that might lead to anyone seeing the bottom of this shelf that is 16 inches above the floor in my office.  This is all I came up with, in chronological life order:

  1. You are an infant….so you’re not going to tell anyone because you don’t speak English yet.
  2. You are a kid…so you’re not supposed to be in Mommy’s office rolling around on the floor.  Get out!
  3. You are a teenager…probably snooping.  Be aware Mommy has a webcam trained on you right now.  Get out!
  4. You are getting busy on the new carpet…focus on what you’re doing and not the bookshelves, please!
  5. You are having a heart attack…you’ve got bigger problems.  Call 911!

That about covers it, right?  Why paint the bottom of the bottom shelf?

bob rossWell, I did it anyway.  This office is going to be MY space, the only place in this entire house that is just for Mommy.  The only place with a door that I can shut.  As my Pop would have called it, this is my “Poutin’ House.”  He once called my dad and said, “I want you to come over here and help me build a 10′ x 10′ shack out in the yard and all I’m going to put in it is a rocking chair, a hole in the floor for spitting, and a door that only has a handle on the inside.”  I think he was fed up with Grandmama Irene at the time.

How am I supposed to relax in my space (much less enjoy that carpet), if I know that the bottom of the bottom shelf looks tacky?

What do you think?  Can you cut corners if no one is going to see?