SeeAnemones's Profile

Certain furniture designs were inevitably destined for replication and imitation as soon as they were introduced, because they were innovations in design and manufacturing. Furniture manufacturers produced and sold their own versions of the molded plastic Eames chair decades ago, because people saw them in magazines and the movies and they wanted chairs like that, and it was easy to reproduce the style on a mass scale so that the mid-range retail customer could buy a set. That's how these designs became icons in the first place--the original created huge demand for that kind of chair and lots of people had chairs like that. Now the designer originals are collectors items and the licensed reproductions are luxury items, and their popularity with collectors and decorators has triggered a resurgence in demand for that kind of chair, as many people remember seeing that kind of chair in photographs of their grandmother's house or in hotel lobbies decades ago and are now seeing it used in a new way. The actual chair they remember may have itself been a "knockoff" of the now-iconic original design. When it comes to mass-produced furniture, it seems to me a bit silly to look down one's nose at people who own mass-produced versions of a mass-produced original. They aren't pretentious or inauthentic--they're actually doing exactly what customers were doing decades earlier when that chair was introduced. The idea that "maybe you just shouldn't have that chair" if you can't afford a licensed reproduction! Would anybody say "maybe you just shouldn't read that book" if you can't find a publisher's first edition?

The one thing above all that was drummed into my head since I could talk is:

"What do you say when you get a present?"
"Thank you."
"What do you say if you don't like it?"
"Thank you."
"What do you say if you already have one?"
"Thank you."
"What do you say if you can't use it because [doesn't fit, allergic to _____, don't have pierced ears, etc.]?"
"Thank you."

I have a box in my attic where the "bad gifts" go. It's a dark, secret place that reeks of guilt and ingratitude. But it keeps bad gifts from tugging at my conscience like they would if they lived out in the open, unused and unwanted.

How is that white bedspread not covered with a film of black cat hair, though?

"A house does not become a home until it has been consecrated by a birth, a wedding, and a death." -- L.M. Montgomery.

Brill. I'm going to look into doing this on a light-filtering roller shade.

I know there are additives you can buy and add to latex paint to make it behave more like fabric paint. Something to consider for those of us contemplating doing this on textiles.

Isn't borox supposed to be a pretty good cleanser for porcelain-coated fixtures?

My favorite bit is the home's nest of billowing perrenials and shrubs in the "after" photo. That changed everything.

My gamer husband's collection of gargoyle and dragon and other dungeony figurines has me completely stumped. There's got to be a way to arrange these tastefully. If it were just the gargoyles it would be fairly simple, because they're sort of uniform in color and texture and can nestle among the books in the library, but there are also dragons in various hues and some towers and Skeletor-looking guys. I love my husband and would rather make him happy than my house pretty, so the dungeon creatures stay. They can, however, be a bit overpowering en masse. Any ideas for me?

I have the wooden cousin to the tanker, sometimes called a "teacher's desk" or "partner's desk." It looks like it was hewn with an axe and has seen plenty of abuse, but my word that's a lot of storage and work surface. I do at least know how to take it apart to move it--the Tanker looks like it will rust in place. I would love love love to find a Tanker credenza, though.

If I just don't like the way the tusks look, do I need to indicate whether I approve of them on an ethical basis?