Since we moved into the new house a few months ago, I have indulged a few lady-of-the-house impulses, such as planting window boxes, buying new dishes, and painting the four-season porch a new color. ("Terrapin green," if you must know. I had to look up what "terrapin" means. Apparently it's a type of turtle.)
This little nesting frenzy has taken me into some frightening thickets of unfamiliar objects and terms. For instance, I had to learn the difference between a chandelier, a pendant, and a sconce. I know how to measure seat height and overall width and depth. I've noted that, should one wish to do so, one could purchase a new kitchen faucet that looks exactly like the one in my grandmother's 1930s kitchen. I've even gotten brazen enough to enter the Pottery Barn store at the mall and to look through their catalog--just for ideas, of course. By the way, once you get past the initial lifestyle lust, home decor catalogs suggest that designers must be imagining very strange lives for the people who are supposed to inhabit their designs. Check out this site if you're not sure what I mean.
Despite being entirely overwhelmed by home-improvement-and-decor world, I am beginning to develop strong opinions about what I like and don't like. I have discovered, for example, a latent tendency in myself toward--I hesitate to confess this--moose kitsch.
I noticed this emerging condition when I could not resist these placemats on mega sale.
Aren't they cute? Come on! They have buttons! When I brought them home, the whole family made fun of me and started calling them "the Sarah Palin placemats." But they have NOTHING to do with Sarah Palin, I tell you! I refuse to be associated with Sarah Palin, and she does NOT get a copyright on everything moose-related. Or grizzly-related for that matter. These placemats commemorate the beauty of northern Michigan. And I enjoy them ironically. Yeah. Ironically.
Well, these days we're thinking about replacing the light above the dining room table, and out of revenge for the scorn I have endured over the placemats, I have threatened Ron with some intriguing possibilities from the good people at the Vaxcel Lighting company. They have a full line of fabulous, no kidding, woodsy-cabin designs.
For instance, here is the "Yellowstone" chandelier:
You've got to admit: that's cool. Not rustic enough for you? Well how about this one, the "Lodge"?
Nothing says "please enjoy the slab of venison on your plate" like a substructure of polymer deer antlers capped with 15 faux-frontier-stitched mini-shades.
For now, I have promised Ron that, in the future, I will limit my Michigan cabin kitsch weakness to small items in the little bathroom. Maybe a beaver soap dispenser or a birch-branch towel rack. Please do not refer to me as a "Mama grizzly." I just like pine trees, OK?