I am fully on board with the notion that our homes are never "done." We live in them. Our tastes change. Things wear out. Things break. Things bore us. Things get replaced.
Angelo is forever changing rooms around. I adore that about him. I see a picture of his living room in one configuration, and days later – it may be more than "days" but then again, it really may be merely "days" – I see another picture and nothing is where it was.
I used to reconfigure my bedroom when I was a kid. There was one "logical" place for my bed to be, but on a Saturday when I was feeling ambitious (translation: not too many Saturdays), I would drag furniture around my room – I'm sure that was just swell
for the carpet – and form my space into something new.
I loved going to bed on those nights. I loved the feeling of change, the fresh perspective.
As an adult, I am all too guilty of leaving things in place. I move a few things around. My house doesn't look exactly
like it did when I moved in. But most of the change has come from addition, not reposition.
I moved into a house from a one-bedroom apartment. I had a lot of space to fill. I had a lot of things to buy. Some of them – many of them – are still on the list.
It is inordinately difficult for me to find certain things. One some fronts, I've simply given up. Perhaps the day will arrive when I will be out in the world and run across the
perfect rug for my bedroom and should that day arrive, I will buy that rug. But I've long since stopped looking for a rug for my bedroom because when I was actively looking, I hated everything I'd see.
Sigh. Maybe I need to weave one myself. Anybody have a loom?
And so it goes. I add items slowly, as I find things I love. But often, finding one thing I love necessitates that I find other things I love to accompany it. And the whole process starts all over again.
And so it was with Angelo's chairs, which I bought thinking I'd use them in the living room, because I had grown very tired of my big, comfy chair (which is where I'm sitting, writing this, now). But then my thoughts changed and I put his chairs in my dining room, thinking I might use them around my dining room table. Except that I'd need three more. But they were sold in pairs. And then, when I finally went back to the site to buy them, they were sold out.
So my dining chairs remained my dining chairs and his chairs began to seem more and more at home where I'd put them, against the wall, under the huge piece of art that needed something below it but I was never sure quite what.
Until Angelo's chairs came along. Turned out, they were exactly what that spot needed. I just never knew it until they arrived.
But then I needed a table to go between them. I would have needed a table to go between them if I'd used them in the living room, too, of course. But the table I would have needed for the living room may well have not been the table I decided that I needed in the dining room and now
do you understand why I rarely end up buying anything new?!
I had a sense of what I wanted, though. Round, for sure. And not much taller than the height of the seats. I nabbed a small, round table from my bedroom and put it in place for a sense of scale. I decided that I really should have a collection of cardboard pizza rounds handy for those moments when I needed to get a visual sense of what diameter would work best in a space. But I used a tape measure instead and got a sense of how big was just right and jotted the dimensions down on an index card and I clipped that index card in my wallet. And then I found this:
I was in West Elm. I wasn't there looking for a table. But I saw him and I liked him and when I got home, I bookmarked him as part of my buy-this-someday plan. I have several buy-them-someday items in mind.
But I didn't buy him. In my mind, I really wanted a pedestal table. I didn't want the columnar feeling of a table with multiple legs.
But I liked his worn finishes. I am not a shiny person. I like patina and age. I like interest. I like history. I like warmth.
And then, one day, I went to visit him online and learned that he was no longer available.
But experience quickly spoke up and said, "Beth? You weren't supposed to have this table."
Yeah, yeah, but it was the closest thing I'd found.
I was in my friend Lenore's store, poking around, making several laps because it is impossible to see everything in one pass, when I found a table that was the right height and the right width but I didn't love the finish – too shiny – and I didn't like that it had multiple legs. So I kept walking and looking.
And then I saw him. It. The
table. I was 99 percent sure.
I asked Lenore for a tape measure. Height? Perfect. Width? Right in range.
Did she let people take items home on approval? Yes? OK.
I brought him home. I put him in place. And, just the littlest bit, I gasped.
I took a picture and sent it to her, subject line: "I think I love him."
And now he's mine.
Of course, now
I need to find pieces to style him. Something glass, maybe, for a bit
of shine. (I can't be entirely
dull.) But mostly, he is there to provide a perch for wine glasses and plates of snacks when I have friends over for dinner and they sit in Angelo's chairs. (They're very comfortable, by the way. Firmly supportive but a nice sit.)
I had him weigh in, too, of course. I figured he should have a vote on the table that would accent his accent chairs. His reply was short and sweet:
"I like it!"
As do I. I more than like it. I love it. It took a while to find him. But it was worth it.