The TV was tuned to New Girl. It’s a sweet comedy with an easy formula. Three good guy friends and one loopy but irresistibly adorable girl share a cool, warehouse-like apartment. Laughter ensues. That is, until the jokes hit too close to home.
When it comes to home-repair projects or tackling a weekend “honey-do” list, most homeowners fall into one of four distinct personality types. Which type are you?
When I arrived, I found dirty dishes piled in a precarious heap in the sink. This wasn’t just a few cereal bowls left to soak before a busy day at the office. Evidence of many meals consumed lay buried in the strata of plates, glasses and cutlery.
I once was a fearless decorator. In high school, I painted a friend’s bedroom walls with an elaborate mural of strange creatures and visual inside jokes that only two teenage girls slightly obsessed with David Bowie in his Ziggy Stardust days could find even remotely appealing.
The latest in colors, design, textures and how to put it all together.
As a kid, I couldn’t understand why adults were content to live in boring houses. I knew that when I was old enough to have my own place, I would decorate every room in a completely different style.
A six-foot tall aluminum Christmas tree stood in my friends’ front window. Strung with sparkling white lights it shimmered like a distorted disco ball. It was meant to be ironic, I figured, crass commercialism as a beacon of hip.
When I don’t have time to travel, I time travel. The buildings of architect A.E. Doyle are like portals to Portland’s past. The architect’s classical-inspired buildings, including the Multnomah Public Library, the Benson Hotel, Reed College, the former Meier & Frank now Macy’s, and dozens of others built during the early 1900s, helped shape the City of Roses.
A man built a house in Wales entirely by hand. His low-impact Woodland Home might have inspired a blog about being good and green and resourceful but instead I’m way too excited about the fact that the place he created looks like a house for hobbit Bilbo Baggins. Theme decorating is my weakness. This obsession interest stems from a troubled childhood, troubled because I was sharing an orange and yellow bedroom with my sister while my little brothers’ room was outfitted with Charlie Brown and Snoopy bedspreads. The boys had a Peanuts theme. The girls had only a vague reference to citrus fruit.
The built-in bookshelves in the home-office-formerly-known-as-den have become battle grounds for a bloodless conflict I’ve come to think of as “Treasured Tomes Verses Titles Powells Won’t Buy.” In a family of four avid readers, the books come in, the books go out. Some are borrowed from libraries, others from friends, but most are bought, read, held onto a few years and then sold back to secondhand books stores, passed along to friends, or donated.
