Mockingbird Hill Cottage

Thanks for all the lovely comments about my living room. That’s the way I decorate. I gather pieces slowly, over time. Every piece has a story. Not the story of how my decorator found it, but a story of personal discovery: an auction, a visit to an antique store, something inherited. Frankly, I could never afford a decorator, nor would I want one if I could. It’s our home.

The coffee table has a story. When we were living in San Diego, my husband’s childhood friend, Rob (who was also our neighbor) stopped by one day and showed it to me. It was an old oak table that had been cut down to coffee table size and Rob had refinished it for a client. He did a beautiful job. But the client no longer wanted it. So I got it for a song. I think of Rob every time I look at it. Its sturdy – perfect for putting your feet up and drinking a cup of coffee.

Some of you commented on the wicker rocking chair and the piano bench. I found the chair during the summer about 3 years ago. It was meant for the front porch and remained there all summer. Fearful of the elements, I brought it inside for the winter. And here it has stayed. We like it in the living room.

I covered the piano bench several years ago with some fabric I had in my stash. Take note of the colors and the flowers. After I brought the rocking chair inside, I did a double take. 

It’s not the same fabric, of course, but the colors are almost identical. Who knew?

It’s hard to get a good photo of the paintings because they’re in a dark corner, but since many of you mentioned them, I’m going to give it a try.

My father surprised us with this painting not long after we moved in to MHC. We took a photo (with newly planted boxwood) and proudly sent it to my parents. I hadn’t even started on the large garden yet. For some reason – maybe the sun hitting the house, a trick of light – Dad thought it was yellow. It’s not, it is a green/gray. But the quirky color makes the painting more dear.

My grandmother grew up on a farm in Orillia, Ontario. Her sister, my Aunt Ruth, did this painting of their house years later. We took Gram on a last trip to her hometown in the late 80’s and visited the farmhouse  (the new owners had painted it white.) Many years later, after Grandma had passed away, we heard the sad news that it had been destroyed in a fire.

Remember the inspiration books I started many months ago? I was in the process of going through piles of magazines that I no longer had room for, ripping out pages I wanted to save, putting them in the books, and then recycling the magazines. Unfortunately, that was put on hold when I had to leave for San Diego and the piles of magazines remained in a corner of the den for several months. The daily sight of them was irritating me. I finally couldn’t take it anymore and I finished going through them yesterday afternoon.

Done. Magazines recycled and my books are full of inspiration.