"My dear," said her husband, the cob, one afternoon, "do you never find your duties onerous or irksome? Do you never tire of sitting in place and in one position, covering the eggs, with no diversions, no pleasures, no escapades, or capers? Do you never suffer from boredom?"
"No," replied his wife. "Not really."
"Isn't it uncomfortable to sit on eggs?"
"Yes, it is," replied the wife. "But I can put up with a certain amount of discomfort for the sake of bringing young swans into the world."
So, now I have one week under my belt. I'd like to say I ran to sloth, lolled around and wallowed in my solitude. But I did not. I began the great Blandings purge. I am shamed by the amount of stuff that has accumulated. The amount of stuff that has made it's way in while, apparently, nothing has made it's way out.
That being said, the expanse of unstructured time has freed my mind a bit. I had visited this bench a few times and pined for it, but I did not have a good spot. I have a lucite stool in front of my fireplace, and the room needs it, otherwise it will tip to something more like showroom aesthetic. Unpleasant. Then, inspiration struck.
Part of the restructuring has been a commitment to keep my vanity tidy. Messy, don't forget, I tend to pile this handy spot with clothes, both dirty and clean, as they are shed. Then, once a week or so (maybe twice) I sort and return things to their appropriate spot.
You would think this would drive Mr. Blandings crazy as it is the first thing you see upon entering the bathroom. When asked, he replied, "Honey, it's just what you do." Which is the kind of thing that defines him as a much nicer person than I; in a similar situation, it's unlikely that that would be my response. So I've placed a few things here to deter the heaping and, so far so good. (I'm out of silver polish, in case you hadn't noticed.)
I recently played ring-around-the-rosie with some light fixtures and moved this crystal pendant here. Which I like, but it made me realize the whole thing needs a bit of spiffing up. The sheer was existing and the stool moved from the old house - a "temporary" space filler, still there eight years later. Eureka! Chinoiserie stool, plain sheer and a mirror, done. Except the chinoiserie bench is sold and my heart is broken. Darn.
Then, looking for bottles or jars to place upon the bathroom shelf at Curious Sofa, I ran across this charming bench. Perfect! Just the thing to replace the coffee table, whose lip cuts into the back of your heel when you place your feet upon it to watch TV.
Sadly, all wrong with the rest. The color was a smidge too gray, it's chic shabbiness was all off with the tub chairs and the tiger striped child's chair. Reluctant to give her up, I tried to find her a home with a particularly stylish friend, but she was a tad too big for the space. After much consternation, back she went.
"Children," he began, "I have news for you. Summer is drawing to a close. Leaves are turning red, pink and pale yellow. Soon the leaves will fall. The time has come for us to leave this pond. The time has come for us to go."
"Go?" cried all the cygnets except Louis.
"Certainly," replied their father. "You children are old enough to learn the facts of life, and the principal fact of our life right now is this: we can't stay in this marvelous location much longer...All things come to an end. It is time for us to go."
If you have never read Trumpet of the Swan by E. B. White you are missing something special. Read it. If you have the opportunity to read it aloud to a child, rejoice. I am reading this to the youngest and a work of fantasy to the oldest, and while I enjoy both books, White's prose sings while the other clunks. It is a book to not be missed.