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A couple of weeks ago, I was able to fly to Cincinnati and visit my daughter, Oona, my son-in-law, Sam, and my adorable grandsons, Owen, and Bennett. The weekend was a blast and it was wonderful to spend time with everyone.
On the way home, however, my plane was delayed. By two hours. And instead of going batshit crazy, as I would have in my younger days, I just shrugged and opened my phone to peruse social media sites. And I as I started scrolling through Instagram , it appeared that every other post was either an annoying ad or an even more annoying reel of any given influencerβeither young or our demographic showcasing, with a huge smile, their perfect home. Yeah Gweneth.
We get it. Enough with your humblebragging. MY foyer looks like this: Normal. Shoes on the rug. A rack filled with jackets and dog leashes and little wicker draws stuffed with more shoes. And not bragging! Huge crescent-shaped driveways festooned with pumpkins, mums, corn husks and whatever else autumn brings our way. Seriously, all those pumpkins would rot on my little porch..
This was MY version of being overly-ambitious. And this morning when I took them out to the trash, they were rotten and moldyβand I had them for less than a week! Overly ambitious tablescapes that made me thinkβ¦. It was overwhelming for me to imagine doing this for every season in my own home. Where does one store all that stuff? Because it DOES look wonderful. But come onβ¦when one works all day, all one wants is to have less shit on the table because it is less to clean up.
And this? Beautiful but not realistic. Where does the food go? I think back to my childhood. When we lived in Queens, we lived in a two-family house. We were on the bottom level and my grandparents on the top level. It was a small home but it was charming. The floors were hardwood. The walls solid plaster. No sheetrock and they were beautiful. As our family grew, my parents turned the dining room into a living room and the old living room became their bedroom.