What is “Timeless”?

I saw an article in the newspaper recently – it was in the home section – about making your home “timeless”.  Can we do that?  More important, do we want to?  Several television channels and their programming thrive on “make-overs”, and they do it by pointing out what’s wrong with what we have.  Change is good.  Keeping up with the trends is tied to “market value” and resale.  Popcorn ceilings are just wrong.  Oak flooring is a disgrace.  In fact, we’re probably losing money on our home even as I write this, although Donald Trump’s economy and the cost of housing enables it to still be worth more than we paid for it.

Our parents and grandparents bought property largely without much concern for any of its features being “dated”.  I remember my mother’s last major renovation project before we all left home and they moved to an apartment.  Anyone remember those “avocado” kitchen appliances?  Or you could choose “harvest gold” ones instead.  Stainless steel was but a distant dream.  Wall-to-wall carpet, or as it’s called it in the UK, “fitted” carpets, were all the thing.  Until carpet came up short, replaced by hardwood.  Unless you’re at the beach, in which case tile floors rule.  “Dated”, along with “updated”, are words we hear regularly on “House Hunters” and anything else relating to real estate. Laminate countertops in the kitchen were acceptable until granite, marble, and quartz became the standard for anyone in the real estate market.  Kitchen cabinets were natural wood, then white, now colors like navy blue and olive green. People, particularly young people starting out, want to “put their stamp” on it, to “make it their own.”  As I recall, we did it without expressing that idea.  Nobody talked about a “gut job”.  That phrase was reserved for antacid commercials. We slowly and, as money allowed, made changes.  Took out the orange carpeting (a refugee from the ‘70’s) in our first house.  We took down the wallpaper and painted, because it was, quite frankly, very ugly, although, in truth, wallpaper wasn’t fashionable them.  Who even knew about “accent walls”, which, although I’m not completely certain of this, were invented by the Property Brothers.

Taste, as it always has, comes in and out of fashion.  Queen Victoria lent her name and presumably her influence to a period of elaborate ornamentation, both inside and out.  It was also a period of unparalleled clutter.  Yes, if you happened to be a resident of Versailles, there were a number of trinkets scattered about, along with beaucoup furniture and decorative touches.  There were many mirrors on the walls, too, because those French nobles liked to look at themselves often.  One might say, too often.  Styles changed, though.  Just as artistic trends, so too did home designs, home building, and home furnishing.  

We look back at a number of different styles.  Shaker furniture, “prairie” style, “mission” style, Art Deco, all with their distinctive features.  And, ironically, many that are prized today if they’re still around and in fairly reasonable shape.  Folks that specialize in rescuing true period pieces like woodwork, stained glass, clawfoot tubs.  One of the things I like best about the renovations done by Ben and Erin in Mississippi on the show, “Home Town”, is that they rescue and reuse so many materials and make those things beautiful.  “This wood floor came from . . . . . .”  Their clients are always appreciative.  

So, we’re now in a period where, in possession of a true period treasure, we feel a responsibility to preserve it.  That’s a sacred trust if you’re in an authentic craftsman bungalow, but if you dwell in a fifties or sixties ranch, strip it to the studs and start again.  Nothing is worth keeping, and more than likely, the wiring and plumbing are shot too.  Start again, reconfigure, strip the tiles, paint the brick fireplace, or better still, cover it with something else.  Rip up the old carpet, because there could be a beautiful hardwood floor underneath.  Although there seldom is.  You’ll reveal square yards of . . . . plywood underlay.

In another genuflection to irony, any folks moving abroad, again particularly young people, because they seem unconcerned about employment or its opportunities, are often telling their agents that they want something “with character”.  That usually means that they want a “two- bedroom flat” that looks like a suite of rooms at Windsor Castle.  Stone walls, mulled glass, exposed wooden beams that have been holding up the place for four hundred years.  Of course, amongst all that historical grandeur, it also must have lots of closet space, guest quarters for all the visitors that will be making the transatlantic flights to visit regularly, at least two bathrooms because they hate sharing, and a large, American-style kitchen because they love to cook.  They also need a large gathering space because they’ll be entertaining a lot – in a new country.  

Back here in the old US of A, we continue in our “dated”, or as I call it, “timeless” abode.  I like to think of it as a time capsule, where future generations will marvel at the preservation of, well, the 1980’s.  Our design style is best described as “eclectic”.  We subscribe to the notion that “good anything goes with other good anything.”  If it doesn’t, we’ll live with it. We’ve redone the bathrooms, more for utility than striking design.  I painted over the ‘80’s “Euro” kitchen cabinets to a dark gray, more because we like it than an urgent impulse for change.  We’ve repainted to colors we like, only because our predecessor favored dark colors – hunter greens and burgundies.  We’ve replaced appliances as they break down, not because we’ve developed a new “design strategy.”  In truth, we like most of the furniture that we’ve accumulated over the years.  Some wore out and needed to be replaced.  My dear late sister-in-law was what one might call a “compulsive” redecorator.  When she needed a change of color scheme, out went the old furniture along with the wall colors.  We’re the recipients of a lovely living room chair, and the Princess has her perfectly good recliner in Atlanta.  Its only fault was not matching the new navy blue and white décor.  My favorite wing chair was looking a bit tatty a few years back.  It had been recovered a couple of times, and now wears an inexpensive slip cover that does the job.  “Timeless”?  Absolutely.  And the furniture store where we bought it went out of business decades ago, along with the one where we bought the couch.  That same sister-in-law used to tell us that it was “broken down” and needed to be replaced.  What she meant was that we’d had it too long and she was sick of looking at it.  I’ve thought, though, that it matched my contours remarkably well, and it’s still here.

So, where we’re “timeless”, “vintage”, or merely “dated”, and we’ve probably been called all three, the fact is that we’re comfortable.  It’s familiar.  Do we have too much stuff?  More than likely.  Her Ladyship and I have never been accused of being minimalists, and the basement of full of a lot more.  In truth, everything old becomes new again.  When we built a house back in 1993, Herself wanted white kitchen cabinets.  That went out, but now, it’s back again.  Any time a home buyer on House Hunters sees maple or cherry cabinets, they remark that they’re “not the white cabinets I wanted”.  Painted cabinets are showing up a lot, too.  As I said, dark greens and navy blues, or two tone – white on top with an “accent” color below.  They’re beautiful, but will buyers shun them in a decade or two, stating boldly in a disgusted tone, “that’s so 2020’s”?  We put in that house a big jetted bathtub in the master bath.  I could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times we actually used it, but now homebuyers everywhere are in awe of them. 

The question, then, in home design, as in everything else, in this.  Can we come up with something that is truly and completely timeless?  I’d say, no.  We can make our surroundings comfortable, pretty, something we enjoy.  But we humans are a restless sort, and like jobs, modes of transportation, food, and politics, we’re after change.  We want something different, and in that process, what we have can become old and stale.  It needs to be replaced with something new, exciting, and will remain that way . . . forever.  Until the next taste or style change comes along.  Then, suddenly, we’ve become “dated.”

Going to the Movies (or Not!)

A feature in Sunday’s newspaper, the Summer Arts Guide, proclaims “All the movies you’ll watch this summer.”  It lists a whole bunch of the new films being released in the next couple of months, and when they hit the big (or little) screens.  Most of them we won’t see because, well, honestly, we’re not interested.  

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Mother’s Day – Honoring, Loss, and Memories

This is a holiday for honoring mothers around the world.  It will be a day of celebration, a day filled with happy memories for those of us whose mothers have passed on but filled, for some, a day with just a hint of loneliness.  Our daughter is in Atlanta, and as she’s coming home in couple of weeks for her godson’s graduation from high school, so making the trip now didn’t make sense.  But we’ll be communicating by phone throughout the day.  Some families aren’t quite that lucky.  It is also a painful one in our family.  My wife’s sister passed in January, so this is our nephew’s first without . . . .  It will be a day of coping.  Celebrating with his wife and children but also a feeling a mix of emotions. 

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Becoming Executive Producer

My apologies for the production delays you’ve experienced.  I’ve been promoted from Head Writer of “I’m thinking . . . .No” to Executive Producer, and moving into the corner office.  When these blogs had just a handful of readers, I could maintain a more modest title, but now that I’m pulling in, well, tens of tens of readers, and presumably the influence that I can inflict generate has been expanding rapidly, so it’s time to move up on the title hierarchy.  

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Are We Becoming Self-Centered?

Everywhere we turn these days, it seems to me that we’re hearing about taking care of ourselves first, making time for ourselves, or doing something on “my schedule”.  Historians may well look back on this period, calling it the “era of the selfie”.  We can date the period of extreme self-centeredness with the advent of taking self-portraits instantly, when the slogan “America First” won presidential elections and took hold as a governing principle.  Where our own interests become our consuming personal philosophy. 

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True “Influencers”

In the comics today, Blondie’s daughter and her boyfriend talk about being “influencers”.  By way of explanation, she wants to “influence” other people to “make her an influencer”. I’ve recently been curious about the growing careers of online “influencers”, particularly by young people.  I’m not sure really what they do, except to post their views, their tastes, and their perspectives on a social media platform and see who responds.  And apparently, millions do.  A few years back, during the college acceptance bribery scandal, an actress’s daughter, admitted to a California university on a sports scholarship for a sport in which she didn’t participate, the daughter, interestingly, posted that she really didn’t need the scholarship because she already had a career as an “influencer”.  And at age 19 at the time, she would bring a rich variety of life experiences and insights to that.  Oh, dear Lord.  I should point out to that my blogs and occasional newspaper commentaries don’t qualify me to be an influencer, because I’m not. I am merely an observer, writing about things going on around me.  Commenting on oast experiences that have shaped my life, but certainly not blazing a path for others to follow.     

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“How to Dispose of a Dead Body”

And other questions not to ask Alexa, if you don’t want your life story to end up on the True Crime Network. As writer Dave Barry would say, “I swear I’m not making this up.”  Full disclosure, I’m not.  These were pulled from actual news stories. 

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Thought-to-Mouth Filters

Wouldn’t it be great if there were such a device?  If we could somehow have some type of fine-mesh device installed somewhere between the brain and the mouth that stops something we’re about to say that, simply put, is going to offend others? You press a button to activate it, and your thoughts are blocked from reaching your mouth and floating like mist into the airspace.

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Writing a “Tell-All”

There it is again – a cover on a popular magazine proclaiming, that yet another celebrity is “finally free to reveal” her life story.  Her struggles, setbacks, inabilities to cope with fame and wealth.  And my guess is that lots and lots of people like to read about those adversities.  Those same people watch reality television shows too, the really, really trashy ones that, for example highlight brains only working on a couple of cylinders paired with anger issues.  The ones where people’s homes are so full of crap they can’t move.  Or the best, where people fall in love with ax murderers and get married in the chapel of a maximum-security prison.  The ones that, when you see the cast in a preview, you tell yourself they really should be titled, “Dear God, Please Don’t Reproduce” or “Too Stupid to Live”.   But again, I’ve digressed.

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Officially Sick of Winter

We all have those moments, don’t we?  One storm too many and we’re pushed over the top.  Here in New England, you’d think we’d be used to it, but no.  This past week, almost two feet of snow, with almost three feet closer to our seacoast extremities – “the Cape and the Islands.”  (For those from away, that’s Cape Cod, Nantucket and Martha’s Vineyard.) Howling winds.  The lights flickering from time to time. And worse, the cable going out during Bridgerton.

Not exactly my expectation as we head into March.  A major storm – what’s called a “Nor’easter” in New England, buried us earlier, and yet, in nature’s cruelty, it’s snowing again  – that thin, steady downward drift of frozen precipitation that doesn’t bode well for my going outside. In fact, I called to cancel another medical treatment because it’s twenty miles away, and the streets are already snow-covered.  Cowardly, perhaps!

I went over to the hardware store across the street yesterday, and while at the self-checkout, I saw the lovely lady that runs their garden center.  She smiled and said that they were opening the first week of April.  Although it’s a warming thought, I’m not betting on it.  I then stopped at the grocery store to pick up a few things.  The sun was shining, and I remarked about it.  The young lady bagging my things gave me a “shush”, and told me that Mother Nature was listening.  She’s right of course.  Retribution for the sun will come swiftly and without mercy in a day or two, or possibly by afternoon.

In full disclosure, if some of this sounds just a teensy bit familiar, that’s because I’ve stolen bits and pieces from a few years ago.  It still holds true, though, so I make no apologies. Ok, Ye Gods of Nature, it’s time for you to set down for yourself some seasonal guidelines, like people do with clothing.  I’m getting sick of flannel shirts and heavy sweatshirts inside, while outside, parkas, puffy vests and boots. I’m ready to shift to my Spring caps and light jackets. Now you need to give us some weather that’s above freezing.  You need to show us that global warming isn’t just the ice cap in the arctic and polar bears looking forlorn. We’re approaching that critical point where, as my wife tells me, we’re leaving “winter white” behind for, well, regular white.  I will say that many people I see out and about, particularly the young ones, have no clue what to wear and when.  I see shorts, flip-flops, and tee shirts even on the coldest days, and they seem totally oblivious to the outside weather. Don’t these people feel the cold?  I do, even when it’s 65 inside and my wife tells me it’s “awfully hot in here.” It shouldn’t matter what is happening outside, when we start transitioning to spring attire, the weather is expected to act accordingly. Years ago, when I was teaching, a young lady informed me that the school building was too cold for her – this in mid-winter, mind you – because she was from a tropical climate, and used to much warmer weather.  I smiled and suggested, with my trademark warmth, that as she was now in New England, perhaps she might consider dressing a bit more warmly.  Clearly, the tank tops alone wouldn’t do.  That’s the delightful perspective of youth – expecting the climate or the school’s heating system to adjust to their dictates of fashion.  

We’re clearly moving into spring, and by rights, I should be planning my spring plantings, pouring over the spring gardening magazines, looking at the newest hybrid plants and this coming year’s colors, all while waiting not too patiently for the spring bulbs to emerge in all their glory.  Instead, I’m still looking at piles of snow resembling the Rockies, and thinking that maybe Florida might not be so bad.  (On reflection, yes, it is.) I saw a rabbit out front the other day searching in vain for something to eat.  Perhaps I should have thrown it a carrot. And the only consolation is that large swaths of the South are no better off than we are.  In truth, their “freezing” is our “rather balmy”, for us a “no gloves” day. I don’t expect any significant growth or bright blossoms yet, and I don’t even expect a photographer from “Fine Gardening” to swing by, asking to set up a photo shoot.  But I want to get started getting initial debris cleared away so it looks a little less like the neglected home in the neighborhood.  You know the one – you drive down the street and it jumps out at you from among the other groomed and manicured properties.  Definitely past the stage where I track ice-melt in the back door. We’re in renewal mode here.  And my houseplants are looking despairing for two days of consecutive sunshine coming through the windows.  At the very least, a couple of days of “partly cloudy.”

Remember in November and December how we had that giddy anticipation of the first snowfall?  Will we have a “white” Christmas?  We checked to make sure the shovels were ready, and the snowblower would start.  We checked the supplies of ice melt.  And then, to our delight, it came.  But now, as those first snowflakes drift down, we think, “oh, crap”.  When the local meteorologist utters those dreaded words, “We have a storm warning in effect for . . . .”, an uncontrollable urge to hit the mute button ensues.  I can’t even watch when they tell us how many inches, or feet we’ll get.  Yes, it’s unbearable.

As I review the efforts of President Trump to take over Greenland, and the natives’ stubborn resistance to his plans, a tiny part of me wonders, why?  Yes, it’s strategic and mineral-rich, but it’s also cold.  Very cold.  For much of the year.  I think, though, he’s using the wrong bait.  If he told them he’d do a swap – Greenland for, say, South Carolina.  Lots of nice coastal homes and beaches – Myrtle Beach, Hilton Head.  Or, if they’d prefer, beautiful mountain areas in the west. Warmth, sun, golf courses. We’d have to move some South Carolinians out, of course, and make Danish the official state language, but that’s the price you pay if you want something.  Yes, we just have to show the Greenlanders a few brochures and we’d have a deal.  In your face, Vladimir Putin. Here’s how you do a land deal. Once again, however, I’ve managed to stray off topic.

So, working in partnership with Mother Nature, fossil fuels, and climate change, let’s get our seasons in New England organized, shall we? Winter is winter.  There will be periods of cold weather and snow, with just enough warming to keep us from going crazy.  My preference would be that it should not begin until early December so we have a Currier and Ives look for the holidays.  Spring should begin in mid to late March, and start to seriously bud in April, with signs of green on the trees and bulbs sprouting.  Is that too much to ask?  If we really, really need to have hot weather, it’s restricted to a week or two in July, then mid-70’s to no more than 80 until Labor Day.  None of this hot sticky stuff unless you’re, well, in Florida, where they and the reptiles are used to it. We also have a constitutional right to a pleasant fall with bright foliage and just a hint of crispness in the air beginning in late October, just in time for pumpkin spice lattes.  I think a well-ordered seasonal rotation is just the ticket to preserving that warm friendliness for which New Englanders are so well known.  Or possibly . . . .

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