It has been four good years in this apartment. Many windows still don’t have curtains, paint touch-ups remain uneven, light switches have gone unreplaced. I have always had big plans for the little things, but as time wore on, those were increasingly slowed. Real life in whatever way or season, took over, and an attention to the small but grand changes were cast aside again and again. It is not that I wouldn’t hit a light switch and be reminded that its face needed to be replaced. Or that the chair in the dining room would very likely crack into pieces if the kids sat in it without pulling it out all the way. I knew and I was reminded of all of this, and for the most part ignored it anyway.
To contend with this, you would have to understand that I am the kind of person that likes weird things; beat-up couches, hole-clad sweaters, chairs that rock a little too much, but hold their character. Everything I hold dear, has almost always been loved deep by someone before me. I could care less if something is slightly broken, though I should. In the before times, I redid the kids’ play kitchens, we built bunk beds from wood we cut ourselves, and our kitchen was completely renovated over days with contact paper and paint by yours truly. That isn’t the case unless it’s vacation, or a weekend alone or the summer. I understand this could be a struggle for some if you’re looking for things to feel finished. Nothing, ever, is finished in my book. And it is not because I only often reproach with new eyes, I just sometimes won’t finish.
Projects do have a way of playing out in my head though. So of course, part of me believes that most of the push-off of finalizing projects is to unconsciously and continuously keep my mind and my hands busy. While I can’t really say for certain one way or another, I believe the kitchen nook is a prime example of this.
This nook is a combination of everything high and low. A mix of found vintage chairs, a bistro table, vintage candle sticks and an Akari light sculpture that took me years to settle into as a purchase. The scarf that was hung as a curtain still lives on, unfaded (so far) with holes for pins. A low-light pathos sits on a perch shared with cats sleeping in the spring sun. After purchasing a new rug for the living room, I moved the living room rug in the kitchen. Once again, knowing it was a temporary solution, while simultaneously noting that it was in fact the least expensive option. An option that would not cause immediate regret, but would ultimately ask that I readdress it in the long term. You know, whatever long term means in this case.
Any high-low nooks at home of your own?