Invention of the have-nots

 

I grew up doing my homework on a particle board table covered in a man-made veneer. No one else noticed how pathetic a table it was, but I did. I want my daughter to do her homework on a wood table that collects dents and scratches over the years, recording the hours of homework- and family-time spent there.

I grew up without design options – or actual furniture – in my bedroom. So I made stuff. My headboard was crafted of artist mat-board I "borrowed" from the church youth group room. Upon it I painted geometric shapes in primary colors – very ‘80s. My nightstand was also cardboard. The benefit here? I could directly tack pictures of Simon le Bon to it.

A chenille bedspread from the ‘50s covered my bed  – at a time when vintage was not cool. Later I changed it up with a quilt made for my mom when she was born, in the ‘40s. Neither was my style but each was the best our sad linen closet had to offer. We never had new towels past what my mom and stepdad received as wedding gifts in 1972. No, our bath towel choices were all jacquard-woven and either avocado green or burnt yellow in a size far too small to wrap around my skinny-kid body. (Were people really really small in 1972?)

The sofa in the den was plaid. Brown plaid. With a tight back and seat, it lacked the slipcovers necessary to keep it clean. A sofabed, it was the cheapest my parents could find that wasn't bought at K-Mart. Later, they cheered when the warehouse burned down along with their check for it. I would have taken that check and upgraded or added another place to sit in the living room. They stashed it for computer parts my stepdad wanted.

Which brings me to our "formal living room." It was filled with dot matrix printers and burroughs computers. What an eyesore, but no one else in the family seemed to care. Most unfortunately, the computer room was the room that greeted guests as they entered through the front door. Embarrassing.

My design and decorating, illustration and poetry came from my family's have-nots and a need to escape it. Our dysphoric 1970s tract home inspired invention in me, this is true. Unfortunately, it also inspired depression. 

I want to make a home that inspires my daughter, Rx through thoughtful choices that consider everyone who lives there. I want her to be moved by positive experiences that drive creative experimentation and self-expression. I want Rx to be driven as I was to create what doesn’t exist, but because of surroundings made rich with music, art and humor.

And nice window treatments.

Obama!!

I just watched President Obama's acceptance speech and I'm sitting here with tears in my eyes. I think it's because he says these words––

I believe in the idea that if you're willing to work hard, it doesn't matter who you are or where you come from or what you look like or who you love. It doesn't matter if you're black or white or Hispanic or Asian or Native American or young or old or rich or poor, abled, disabled, gay or straight. You can make it here in America if you're willing to try.


– and because he lives by these words as a "different" person. Because he shares the power he has earned with other people who struggle with being different. Because he demands equality.

It's the only message that matters.