I have long subscribed to Style at Home, House and Home and Architectural Digest magazines. Plus I buy the occasional drug store issue of Home and Garden and Elle Décor. I have also watched every single episode of anything on HGTV by Sarah Richardson. I spend a lot of my spare time trolling through home stores and antique shops.
Suffice to say, I thought I had the decorating thing down. I had absorbed good taste by osmosis. Plus I figured I must have excellent style genes from my mother, whose home is simply lovely to be in.
Turns out that looking at fabulous pictures of Diane von Furstenberg’s Manhattan penthouse isn’t the same as being Diane von Furstenberg. Or her interior designer. Or even anyone distantly related to her interior designer’s assistant. And style doesn’t transmit through DNA.
I have absolutely terrible taste in paint colours. So far I’ve chosen a chilling hospital white and a colour I can only describe as electric baby blue. Both are uniquely horrid, but after two months of living with frog tape, we’re simply unwilling to paint over either. We’ve accepted the baby blues.
Paint debacle aside, the place is starting to feel like home. We’ve made a few good meals, hosted a few good friends, and gained a few good pounds thanks to the Elmvale bakery’s boston cream donuts — they have real cream in them and are made fresh every morning. They smell like delicious trouble.
And even though I’m not happy with the way it looks right now, our house will get there. I did a walkabout tonight and took some pictures for you. Skipped the loft because it’s currently the most work-in-progressy space, but I promise to post photos of those rooms soon.
What I’m loving most about being in this house is what’s around it. My family is minutes away. The air smells like fresh rain, or cow dung, or burning leaves – depending on the time of day and year. And I can walk 30 paces to pretty trails filled with fall colours.