"You'll garner enthusiastic praise from by the world's leading art and design critics when fiendish but brilliant furniture makers fashion you into a tasteful, living Adirondack chair."
If there is one thing that can "sell" me on a house, it is a fabulous porch structured lovingly around the front door... If there's a second, it would be black & white checkers in a kitchen. The latter landed me in a love-hate relationship with my mortgage. But that's a tale for another day.
|*squeal of delight*|
A porch. More than some grand architectural element crafted for aesthetic pleasures - so much more than an entryway into a home. It is a masterpiece all its own. An escape akin to some tree-top abode for wee ones. It can have its own personality and presence. Offering shelter and safety disguised as a quiet observer's nest. Then again, sometimes it's not all that quiet, as it can offer welcome sanctuary for boisterous laughter, music, the playful clinking of goblets and endless chatter. My, how I miss that.
Prior to galloping off on that path of marriage, home ownership, spawn and some semblance of responsibility, I lived in a rented Victorian house in the heart of downtown. To one side of the entrance, small portholes of intricate stained glass. The door, an extraordinary deep red adorned with delicate etchings. To the other side, a giant bay window leading whimsically into the living room. And the porch. This spectacular covered wooden porch ripe with an old rickety and charming swing. That porch became more a gathering place for neighbors, friends and loves than any kitchen could ever hope to. By George, it deserved to be named!
Countless Summer nights were spent in pajamas and flip-flops perched upon that swing with a glass (OK, sometimes a plastic cup) of wine in my hand and not a care in the world... not even a care for the ensuing wine stains on my feet as my clumsiness would overtake what remained of inhibition. I would occasionally chat up complete strangers who offered exotic tales of days gone by. Experiences I would never dream of owning, however enchanting. Evenings moving effortlessly into nights almost always set to island music under the ambiance of obnoxiously strung kitschy lights. No concerns of being land-locked or poor. Nothing much matters while swinging mindlessly back and forth. Childlike innocence.... well.....avec boxed wine, that is. I suppose not so innocent after all. Still..... a nice memory.
Funny how such an unassuming setting can represent so much joy. *sigh* Happy Tuesday, Pets.