Unintended Consequences

and the bent-nail school of remodeling

After a respite yesterday, when the air was hazy, but we could breathe, the smoke has returned. Things are particularly bad when we venture out into the world, and we are guessing that our buffer of old trees is helping a bit to filter the air. This is another reason we should all be planting more trees. As many as possible. Why this is not public policy, I cannot understand. It does no harm, it isn’t controversial, and it would beautify the world. Instead, the little village down the hill from us has removed probably twenty mature trees to build eighty apartments in a tiny space. But there will be a concrete public sitting area with tables on the corner right next to the main intersection, where people can sit contentedly, breathing exhaust. No trees in sight, except for the evergreen tree in front of the Walgreens across the street. How does this make sense.

I rant.

Meanwhile, the family are here. The siblings sat around the fire pit (with no flames, I hasten to add) all evening, talking and enjoying one another’s company. My husband and I, worn down from the heat, could not, with the best will in the world, stay outside any longer. We went to sleep in our deliciously cool bedroom with the sound of their conversation as a background. It was lovely.

Tonight the painting will be delivered by the artist. I have known her since she was a girl, the daughter of old acquaintances. She will stay to dinner and tell her story. We will now be in possession of four of her creations—one from when she was still in school— including the painting recently installed in our dining room. That painting is its own story, but it would not be here but for the portrait that is arriving tonight.

Before revealing the artist of my husband’s portrait to him, I suggested we go to her art exhibition last winter. I thought we might buy one of her exquisite tiny oil paintings of an owl or a crow, and surrounded by her work and talent, I would tell him that she was the one doing the portrait. But, although I did tell him, it didn’t quite work out the way I imagined.

We walked through the exhibition, each at our own pace, experiencing what we were seeing in our own ways, as we like to do. I was gazing at a pair of four-inch square crow paintings, pondering which I liked best, when my husband appeared, urging me to come and see something. I followed him a little reluctantly, sensing I was not going to have a crow in my future. We went around the final corner to find an enormous glowing painting of a winter scene, a young woman with her back to the viewer, the setting sun shimmering through a cloudy sky. An icy lake lay in the mid-ground; a gray wolf stood almost imperceptibly in the background. Parts of the painting glimmered metallically. As you moved from one side of the painting to the other, sun appeared to rise and set.

We admired the painting together. Then I went back to gaze wistfully at my birds. We chatted with the artist and her parents (whom we hadn’t seen in decades), and, it being an icy night, did not stay for a drink in the elegant bar, but hurried home like two country mice to our cozy house and waiting dogs.

Three days later my husband and I were sitting in the library drinking our morning coffee, when he announced that he would like to buy the painting with the young woman and the sun and the wolf. If he had said he wanted to sell the dogs I would have been less surprised. My husband never wants anything. He spends almost nothing on himself. He works very hard, and does highly stressful work. He never takes vacations.

I shrugged. “Okay,” and after a little more conversation, texted the artist.

We didn’t hear back from her for several days, because, as it turns out, she was in a workshop or retreat of some kind. Her excitement was palpable.

But then came the question of where to put such an enormous painting. We do not have an enormous house. It is comfortable for us, quite crowded when the family visits, but it is not in the modern style. It is cozy, charming, and right-sized, I think. We have no great room; no two story atrium, no massive space with walk-in closets, and certainly not many big walls. There were really only two places it could fit: in the bedroom or in the dining room.

And that’s how the whole dining room project began. Because I had to get rid of a wall of furniture with all its storage for my various sets of china and glassware and vases, and figure out how to create a place for the painting to be the focus. It’s all part of the bent-nail school of remodeling.

The new china cupboard is not quite finished. The cupboard doors are being changed, and the carpenter is not happy with the drawers. But the painting has been installed, and my husband is enthralled.

I like to think, even though my tiny savings played no part in the purchase of this larger work, that it, too, is part of my anniversary gift, one year late.

Tonight we will celebrate the new paintings together, and also another year of our marriage, with our family around us. I’m looking forward to it.

Happy Saturday!

***

”And all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”~Julian of Norwich

These posts are about finding the beauty in daily life, even amid the craziness, uncertainty, and anxiety. Reality is not going away, but these are the only days we get, so we have to relish their small beauties while we have them. If you are a paid subscriber, please know how deeply grateful I am for your support. The kindness and enthusiasm of your comments buoy me and keep me writing, but the paid subscriptions are an extra vote of confidence I truly appreciate. These posts will always be free, however, so if all you can do is share, that is helpful, too. Whatever you decide, I’m glad you’re here.

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