Scottish artist Jane Lindsay exemplifies what I have talked about in recent posts – making your home uniquely yours, and that it doesn’t need to cost much at all. Look at her beautiful things that delight and amuse her, even when broken and glued together. Maybe moreso broken and glued together, because as she says, she loves things that mean something.
Never mind Jane obviously won the lottery in heaven when they were passing out good skin. She talks about when she turned 50 during her children’s teen years, and now they’re grown…she defies age. Does living the life of an artist in the Scottish countryside have something to do with that? As I’ve been following her for a few short months now, I know that she, too, lives with chronic disease. She sure doesn’t show it. She is gracious and delightful.
Her home is chock full of creative ideas. I’m going to steal some of her quirky sign ideas and make my own. And yes, Jane…we will “s’cuse the mess.”
I went to Amazon and was able to custom order a vintage-style metal sign like the one on her wall. Link here: https://amzn.to/3A91liS Remember that as an affiliate I may earn a small commission on anything you purchase through my blog, and thank you. Here is the book Jane references, The Not So Big House: https://amzn.to/3YueVax If you’re nearby, I’d be glad to lend you my copy. I’ve referenced it for years. I love the bright yellow reading lamp she has in her alcove. I couldn’t find us a yellow one, but I did find a great one with coppery accents, here: https://amzn.to/4d4KhZL. And last but not least, how about those stick on letters under paint with a favorite song or poem line?! https://amzn.to/46ve7UQ Thanks for the inspiration, Jane!
The last few posts, while on a subject close to my heart, were just TCB. If you don’t know what that stands for, don’t take your youth for granted. I’ve not been well enough to write for the better part of a week. And I’m learning a lot, seemingly all over again, about my body and my health now that I am older. I can no longer get away with plowing through like I did the first several decades.
Those closest to me know that a few months ago I was told that I have a rare genetic disease, called ADA (or Adenosine deaminase deficiency) which destroys the immune system. I’d gone through another bout of Lyme and two sets of blood tests, and the doctor’s office called me in for a “consultation.” They wanted me sitting down to explain this anomaly. Apparently they had never heard of ADA either until getting the results back from Mayo and they were quite stumped by my response when they told me: I laughed out loud. A big guffaw. It wasn’t that I don’t take it seriously, but think about it – I’m halfway through my 71st year and they are telling me that I have a rare, life-threatening disease that might kill me – AND that I was born with it! Helllloooooo…..I WON!
Honestly, I suddenly felt like I had superpowers. But it did explain a lot, and I am just beginning to grasp the consequences with this last week, because what I am experiencing may be no more than your common cold. I tested negative for Covid and influenza, which is great to know; I’m not contagious. I was told it probably began as allergies and became a sinus infection, and I was prescribed antibiotics. But the past few nights have been pretty scary. Incessant violent coughing keeps me from sleeping, so I count the minutes on the clock adding them up to make hours, in an attempt to get to morning without having to call for an ambulance. The validating part of this diagnostic information is that I know that I am NOT exaggerating the pain or the seriousness of the symptoms. I record every medication I take at what time. I line them up on the dresser just in case I’m making a mad dash for help, or worse, that my son would be.
And for the record, I freaking hate drama. I do not want to be this person who is always sick and needy. I’m far less afraid of death. So that’s the other thing I do – I write love notes. I document my thoughts and feelings. I’m getting my things in order. I updated my will fast, and bought a final wishes planner called I’M DEAD, NOW WHAT? to record instructions for my only child. Last year my brother died in his sleep after a few days of “feeling under the weather”. He was 62; I was 70 at the time. It is entirely possible he also had ADA, and that a seemingly minor cold or flu was not taken seriously. We’ll never know.
Here’s what I do know: I’m not afraid of dying. It certainly wouldn’t be my choice at this time, but que sera sera…I AM, however, afraid of losing my sense of humor. It’s been elusive this past week. That’s when I know I’m really in trouble. When I become snarky with the people I love. Because when all is said and done…
Get a new toaster already! This one looks good from my Amazon affiliate link: https://amzn.to/46BPdDg, and for God’s sake, get yourself a final wishes planner: https://amzn.to/3LOyp26 Don’t leave it to your loved ones to have to figure out. That isn’t fun or funny.
Let’s go to school with color expert, designer and self-proclaimed hoarder Patrick O’Donnell. Here he shows us his enchanting home, a “typical 70’s ranch” he transformed into a country retreat with paint and wallpaper. He walks us through his 10 Design Rules, including essentials like How to Hide Your Jackie Collins. And Perk Up Your Pelmet. Betcha didn’t know you needed this!
Let’s recreate some of these design elements on a budget! I will be finding a place in my home for this beautiful peel & stick wallpaper: https://amzn.to/4cfIoYV Remember, as an Amazon Affiliate I may earn a small commission at no extra cost to you. And Thank you for using the links here. Now let’s hang this green majolica leaf plate (my favorite) on that wallpaper: https://amzn.to/4fwLdYO. I’ve also hung paper plates and even used them in the back of a shelf to highlight the dishes in front of them. My new favorite are these Caspari paper placemat hung on the wall: https://amzn.to/3YuvBif, layered under white cabbage ware plates: https://amzn.to/4fvhwr2. Now we’re getting there!
Wheat Sheaf, the style of chandelier he has, was popular during the 70’s and usually paired with Duncan Fife or Colonial style furnishings. I’d actually prefer this in our room: https://amzn.to/4d6n35G. That will get us a big impact for a modest investment. If you don’t have an upholstered headboard, treat yourself. They’re great for sitting up in bed reading, which I love to do. And they’ve become much more affordable, like this one: https://amzn.to/4c8gNZW. Again, a great deal of comfort and style for a reasonable investment. And now, you can easily change out your look seasonally with the new stretchy slipcovers: https://amzn.to/3LL1Kuq. We need a good reading lamp and we’re ready for guests. I have this one and I love it: https://amzn.to/46uExpK…Paddy, your room is ready!
sometimes, quite literally. Why are we so afraid to express ourselves? I’ve always been a maximalist. Really, from the time I was a little kid. I was in grade school or junior high when my best friend nicknamed me “the perpetual arranger.” Keep rearranging it until it relaxes you and tickles your fancy.
I have also never had any budget for decoration. I’ve been the thrift queen since high school, shopping at St. Vincent de Paul, garage sales, and the Goodwill for clothes and jewelry and lamps and rugs and cute little chairs. And when I am not wearing the green velvet jacket I don’t hang it in the closet. What a waste that would be. I drape it over the shoulders of a chair. I hang necklaces on a lamp, I pin found feathers and postcards from friends to the lampshade. I’ll drop today’s beach stone finds in the bathroom sink. A friend once asked me how I clean the sink with the stones in the way…and don’t they get toothpaste on them? I responded “they love it.” Who told you the rules?
Hutton Wilkinson says the worst thing a house can be is boring. I couldn’t agree more. Design mentor Alexandra Stoddard calls taupe boring, “…the insidious, evil, creeping taupe.” Taupe. Who needs it? Just say no. Let your house express you. Don’t you want to walk out to your kitchen in the morning and be delighted? Come home from your yearly physical and feel renewed? Let your soul play and sing here – here – where it is for you. One of my life goals is to become increasingly brave and eccentric – and embellish everything. Stand right there a minute…
This has been another tough week. I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired. I try to tough it out, but finally succumb to the exhaustion and call the doctor. I went in again yesterday and am back on yet another course of antibiotics. When I am nauseous and in pain I am impatient and…well, let’s just say less than gracious.
Summer has become my least favorite season for several reasons. One reason is too much activity crammed into the 3 months of warm weather. I prefer cooler weather. And less activity. Quieter. That said, I am blessed to live in a beautiful part of the country (and the world) and summer is busy with visitors. Tourists come from all over the world. Friends and family visit from all over the country. Some have cottages nearby, some rent. My darling nephew came up from Cincinnati in June with his three young girls. They stayed with me in my little one bedroom house. I took the sofa and made the 3 girls camp out on the living room floor next to me. That visit was way too short and absolutely magical. I’m still tingling with delight every time I think of it.
But I was well that week, and now I’m not. It happens that most of my peers, family and friends alike, are retired now. I’m working from home. They are on vacation; I am not. And recently a visiting relative was quite insensitive about bringing that up. Bragging actually, about not having to work in his later years. As if I were not as smart, or had done something wrong. I ignored him, considered the source and all that. The next day I offered a bit of help as they were having to move from hotel to cottage, juggling suitcases and food and outdoor gear. They inquired as to the location of a laundromat and I offered to do their laundry while they went out touristing. I was laying low trying to turn this sinus infection around; I might as well make myself useful. My generosity was responded to with another request. Sadly I have to be reminded now and again that most of my family will take a mile if you give them an inch.
But today after cooking myself some breakfast before taking all the pain medication I can safely take at one time, I caught myself feeling sorry for myself. That’s ugly. I crawled back into bed in hopes of the relief that comes only with sleep…and heard a knock on the front door. Someone knocks on my front door about 3 times a year. I do not live on the way to anywhere (on purpose) and the door is up a flight of stairs, after you’ve managed the 45 degree incline of the driveway. I’m perched high on a hill, also on purpose. The views are great, and more importantly, I’m a destination.
At the soft knock I leapt out of bed, excited. My immediate thought was that it might be a delivery of flowers! Several friends and family members know I am in bed sick and having a hard time. But it was just UPS. The box was heavy and he offered to set it inside the door. I have the kindest UPS driver, Brian, who goes above and beyond. And I was grateful. So was the cat, whose food and litter made up the weight of the box. No, that’s not true – the cat takes me for granted, too. As testament to my being a good pet owner.
And as I shuffled stiffly back to bed, I thought of how odd it was that my first thought was a flower delivery. My mother used to send flowers to me. Always pink tulips on my birthday in March. Often when she knew I was feeling down. Just a little cheer.
But she’s been gone 21 years. In those 21 years I have had exactly one flower delivery. It was dropped outside my door just after losing my sweet little beagle Odie 5 years ago. That came from a dear friend, who has also suffered too much loss and grief. She brought an orchid that is still flowering, and tea and chocolates long gone. How very thoughtful. I have received lovely notes and cards and gifts in the mail from friends, and I delight in sending them occasionally. I wish health and finances allowed for much more of that.
Why don’t we do more thoughtful acts of kindness anymore, myself included? I’m healing now, mentally and emotionally at least, from a lifetime of living with narcissists, with brutish men and defensive women. I’ve had to realize that many of my family were not nice people, albeit I understand their pain and dysfunction. I’ve had to see those traits in myself and work to overcome them. Most importantly, I’ve learned to enjoy my own company. I’m the CEO.
I did lose my patience yesterday. I was short with a dear friend and ornery with my son. All via text, while waiting in an hour long line at the pharmacy. I’m disappointed with myself. I compromised my integrity. Integrity doesn’t allow you to justify bad behavior based on your own needs. I hope I learned something and can do better in the future. My friend and my son were both quite magnanimous about it. My son texted back, “Your feelings are valid. No need for guilt. I love you and I’m grateful for you.” Sometimes words are even better than flowers.
Yesterday’s post seemed a bit preachy about what I don’t want. I beg your patience. What I DO want, and have always wanted, is freedom. Peace of mind. That’s my measurement from here on out for the rest of this incarnation, which I hope will be many more years. As Mimi would say, “good Lord willin’ and the crick don’t rise.” Do I need more exercise to pull that off? I certainly do. So thank you to my dear, dear friends and family who do continue to entice me out to share in activities. I have to pick and choose wisely right now as I am still recovering from a debilitating, albeit invisible, disease. Thank you for not giving up on me.
This delicate balance I seek to find this summer includes what feels like a huge psychological shift. Now in my 7th decade I seem to be just discovering what freedom means – specifically, to think freely. To dig down into the depths of my true being and find out what it is that I really want. Who I truly am. To stop using life energy to flail against what I don’t want. To stop protesting, to stop feeling put upon and pulled at by those around me.
Two or three nights ago now I woke, as I always do, between 3 and 4 a.m. I “heard” the voice in my head, seemingly out of nowhere, stating very clearly: “THERE IS NOTHING AGAINST YOU HERE.” Intuitively I knew that by HERE it meant, in life, on earth, for all time. There is nothing against me. There never has been. And as my old mentor Jack Boland would have said, “therefore, as night follows day…” that means that everything is FOR me.
This concept may take a minute or lifetime for me to grok. I’ll have to get back to you on this…this is what I mean when I say, “on the road to enlightenment, I’m taking the local.” I mean to get it with every cell of my being. Don’t rush me.
Please indulge this idea with me: what if everything is for you? Another long time mentor is Rob Bell. Young as he is, he is onto something. Several years ago I went to listen to him speak in his home town of Grand Rapids, Michigan. He left the evangelical mega church he was pastor of because they wouldn’t let him teach enlightenment. There’s something I might do if you asked – I’d go to hear him speak again. He leads you out – out of the restriction of your personality into your natural state of freedom. He gets it, or as he says, there is no exit strategy here. “This is not an evacuation theology…”
It’s true that I don’t want to go anywhere with you. Because I want to be nowhere with you, as in nowhere = now here.
Today I feel about 150 years old. It’s summer time here in Michigan, in the little beach town where I live. I’m less than a mile from the beach, and just a mile or two from the national park, Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore. It is magnificently beautiful. And…what is that new buzz phrase? Um…overtouristed. But many relatives and friends come this time of year to visit, because – let’s be honest – it’s a bear in the winter.
So this morning relatives staying in a nearby resort called and suggested we meet at the beach. I hesitated…but I said okay. Not a resounding yes, but okay. We are old. We are in our seventies. WHO goes to the beach in their 70’s? Turns out, people from Florida. They are READY! Wow. They have the fancy beach chairs in the spiffy carrying bag and the cooler with the sparkling water and the big umbrella with the spike that goes in the sand…I didn’t even know these things existed until this morning. I’m as ready for a day at the beach as I am for the slopes in January. Which is to say: not.
Time for true confessions. I’m an indoorsey kinda gal. Nature terrifies me. Never mind the ticks are trying to kill me, it’s HUMID PEOPLE!!! The sun is so bright. Is that really necessary?! There are people everywhere. Bugs. Poison ivy. Alewives. Eeeewwwwww….it’s mighty uncomfortable for starters. And it stinks. I just don’t get it.
Humans invented air conditioning for a reason. Do you have any little IDEA?! how COMFORTABLE my BED IS?! Why would I ever want to go to a beach?!
I don’t belong here. I am a city girl. Born and raised in the suburbs of Detroit. And I loved it there. The architecture is some of the best in the country. The Detroit Institute of Arts is truly one of the premiere museums in the world. Before I could drive I used to skip school and hitchhike downtown to spend the day in the museum. Or on the 13th floor of the J.L. Hudson building, the furniture floor, moving from vignette to vignette, imagining how I would change the room if it were mine. In junior high and high school I worked downtown for Saks and walked the tunnel under Second Avenue to the Fisher Building for lunch and a manicure. I was in my element.
But life had other plans for me. For reasons I won’t bore you with today, I moved to my “2nd home,” up north, when my son was young. So he grew up here, and he loves it here. And so, here we are. And I do love it here, too. I probably would not choose this rural location if I were deciding today, but I’m here now. In an ideal outdoor playground. They call it Pure Michigan for a reason.
So off I go to meet people at the beach. We didn’t go to any of several close beaches, we drove to an isolated beach miles down a dirt road through the woods, attempting to avoid the crowds. At the mouth of the path from the road’s end down to the water stood a wooden board announcing that you must have a park pass to continue. I had not realized before that this was within the boundaries of the National Park. I don’t have a pass. But I can scan the Q-code with my smarter-than-me phone and buy one online. Except I can’t. It requires you register an account using your email. Okay. But then connect to the purchase app via email. Well, no. I don’t have email on my phone! It’s on my computer at home – WHERE I SHOULD HAVE STAYED. And does the park let you buy a day pass? No. Pay as a guest? No. It seems to me that nothing is user friendly for we old folks who are electronically disadvantaged. And fear federal prison.
Anyway, I’m back home now. I am never going to leave again. I do not want to meet you at the beach. I do not want to go for a hike. Outdoors isoverrated. Neither do I want to go to a crowded concert venue, or a movie theater, a loud bar, or the symphony. Been there, enjoyed that. Decades and decades and…decades of that. I’m tired. I like to remind my friends that not all of us here are on vacation.
You are aware, I trust, that they make fabrics now that feel like bunny fur? You can buy slippers and you can also wrap yourself up in it’s goodness in the form of a blanket. And stay warm. In your icy, air-conditioned room with a QUEEN SIZED bed, and a tv with a REMOTE!
In my dream I was married to Bill Nighy. Because A) dream, B) mine. The video was called Real Life. He wrote it and starred in it. And it showed him living daily life. Cooking. Painting the living room wall. Yelling at the kids. Regular stuff. Like the camera had just followed him around for a while observing the ordinary. Just bein’ a regular guy…only Bill Nighy could make that look natural…
But the internet kept going bonkers (as it has been lately, here in my real life) and I’d have to close out YouTube, go back and search for the video again. It would bring up something else. No. I just want Bill Nighy in Real Life. Delete everything else. Delete delete delete…
And then I woke. In case you didn’t think God has a sense of humor. Just get back to real life, Susan. Power down. Turn off the computer. Walk outside. That will be easy today, as it’s sixty-three degrees with a breeze off the lake. We’ve had 24 hours of rain and everything is green and scrumptious. Real life alert: the lawn needs mowing again. The sink is full of dirty dishes. Did you want clean underwear?! Then you’d best do some laundry.
I’m a big fan of Bill Nighy. Although I have doubts that I’d want to be married to him. Sorry, Bill. Luv ya’ but no. I’m sure his present wife will be relieved to hear that I’m no competition. I’m an even bigger fan of ordinary life. I have one of those, and I’ma try to live it to the best of my ability today, sans Marmite. No, thanks, to that, too, Bill.
It was two years ago this month when I was frightfully ill and diagnosed with Lyme disease. What an ordeal. My life would never be the same. I’m remembering it because I am under the weather. Again. And terribly discouraged. It’s the Lyme. Still. It has gotten better these past two years, but it has never gone away; the doctors tell me it likely never will. They tell me I will always test positive. I have recently been told that I will likely loose my teeth due to rapid bone loss. Related? Yes.
This busy summer week in the middle of July I have had to cancel plans with friends more than once. I have neglected housework, garden, my cat, grocery shopping and self care in lieu of survival mode, meaning bed or sofa time. Feet elevated. My joints are swollen and painful and I’m running a fever. I’m clumsy, tripping over my own feet. Have a headache. But the real issue keeping me from leaving the house is the Bell’s palsy. Specifically, my right eye. The right side of my face feels like your funny bone when you hit it – painfully tingly. I was accidentally clocked in the jaw once years ago and nearly passed out. It feels like that. The irritated facial nerve causes my eye to swell and be bloodshot. I could go out with a patch or dark glasses, but the sensitivity to light is stabbing.
I’ve been taken down (but not out, at least not yet) by a tiny insect. These things are not to be toyed with. This time two years ago I was definitely dying, and fast. The 4th of July was a Sunday. I remember it well, because I woke with a big dark welt on the back of my leg. Being 70, I thought it prudent to go to the ER and make sure it wasn’t a blood clot. They did an ultrasound and determined, no, not a clot. Maybe a spider bite, or some skin irritant from the garden. They sent me home with a script for an antibiotic. I wouldn’t fill it. By Monday morning I was too sick to drive to the pharmacy. I was overtaken by the worst “flu” I’d ever had.
By Wednesday or Thursday night I was in trouble. I couldn’t keep any food or liquid down, I was disoriented. I didn’t know what day it was. I had not slept because of pain; I paced the floor instead. I called my primary care physician who insisted (over the phone) that I had Covid, despite testing negative. Apparently the home tests were not to be trusted. Wait it out I was advised. Whatever you do, don’t come here, and don’t go to the ER. Take Tylenol. Clearly I had not described this pain accurately.
Sunday morning, eight days in, I woke with half of my face paralyzed. Afraid I had suffered a stroke during the night, I got my son to take me back to the ER. He would have to help me dress, carry me to the car and set me in, and get a wheelchair at the ER door to transport me inside. I couldn’t stand let alone walk.
In that week since I first visited the same ER with the same doctors I had lost 20 pounds. My ribs were showing. I could barely speak. Sure enough, I was severely dehydrated and my potassium levels were dangerously low (who knew this was a thing?) The brilliant ER physician admitted he didn’t have a clue what was going on, and called in another doctor for an opinion. Fifteen minutes later my (NEW beloved!) doctor walked in, asked me if I’d had a skin breakout in the past week, took a look at the records of my previous visit, looked at me and said, “You’ve got Lyme.”
He told me it would take a few days for test results to confirm that, and meanwhile they were admitting me. I burst into tears. I had a chance now. He literally saved my life. Later I would learn that I was his 3rd Lyme diagnosis that week. The first two were unrelated young children, rushed into the ER by panicked parents when they woke unable to move their legs. Now, you should know, this is a tiny hospital in a village of 1,000 people, with an inpatient capacity of 6 beds. Talk about lucky.
You probably know someone with Lyme. A good friend has a daughter-in-law who has been struggling with it more than fifteen of her 30+ years. My son was bitten a few months after I was and had the distinct bullseye rash. He suffered the same symptoms, albeit somewhat less severe, and still has chronic pain and fatigue. I don’t have to convince anyone that this is a serious problem of epidemic levels here in the midwest U.S.
But it is not – I repeat, not – being properly addressed. Most doctors will tell you that 10 days on Doxycycline and you are cured! Know anyone cured? Me neither. I will tell you that the most help I received was from acupuncture treatments. An opthalmologist recommended sewing my eye shut – permanently. No thank you. I still have perfect vision in that eye. It always feels like it has a wad of cotton in it, but I CAN SEE.
Believe me when I say that I am enormously grateful that I have fared as well as I have with this. Many people contract Lyme and never know what has caused their chronic illness. It steals your quality of life silently and invisibly, and you are just as likely as not to never be taken seriously by a physician. I was diagnosed early and treated aggressively with days of IV antibiotics and antivirals. Not to mention the anti-nausea and pain meds I received that allowed me to s l o w l y recover. Had it not transpired that way, I am certain I wouldn’t be here today.
There is ground breaking treatment available in some of the most progressive clinics in the world, but it is not covered by insurance. Most of the treatment is not – if you can convince a doctor that you need treatment at all. There are hundreds of videos available by people from all walks of life. Many famous and wealthy people have documented their own battles, and told of the years and millions they spent to get well. I don’t believe I’m an alarmist – but this is alarming. Please educate yourself and your loved ones, and push for help if you are suffering. Never settle for medical gaslighting. If you have Lyme, your life is at stake.
A Painterly Home 