WALLPAPER DELIRIUM

 

A series of essays….

CABIN OF THE CUSTOMS WATCH BY CLAUDE MONET

….as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

The courtroom artist’s renderings on the nightly news tonight remind me of Norman Rockwell toile (French: an illustrated fabric). Snarky me sits here wishing the background color immediately behind the judge in the drawing was just a slightly darker shade of green.

Cabin of the Customs Watch, painted by Claude Monet in 1882, contains the perfect color palette for my selected wall and reached high-ranking mural status while sporting a number one rating on my top-ten list, last week.

This week conjures up the spirit of the Hopi people of north-eastern Arizona performing ceremonial rituals while dressed in elaborate and beautiful costumes adorned with feathered headdresses. Although the spirit and colors match my ideas very well, this one might be a bit busy for my small space.

THE SPIRIT OF THE HOPI

Walking around The Detroit Institute of Arts a few weeks ago was like studying a gigantic showroom of wall covering samples with all of their fine details popping out at me: colors, periods, styles (Chinoiserie in particular). So many amazing and talented artists who have created such wonderful delights to choose from!

CHINOISERIE: A STYLE OF DECORATION
OR FINE ART BASED ON IMITATIONS OF 
CHINESE MOTIFS

Everything I see has the potential of being the perfect wallpaper! I find myself living each waking (dreaming) moment totally obsessed by potential patterns; infinite possibilities. Lately, I have been inundated, overpowered, and totally mesmerized by it!

Since I have not thought about wallpaper as a decorative option for decades, I am finding the new generation of it to be collaborating with my senses and driving me into a delusional and highly misleading effect of perception.

Similar to binge-watching television programs, it is a production by Wallpaper Direct starring Turkish Ikat and co-starring Lucious Flora in all her super abundant glory, followed by The Transylvanian Manor Toile adorned in tones of green, brown, and taupe and brought to you by Birch Lane. Switching the channel to Milton & King (perhaps a talented duo and fine stand-up comedians?), I long for a free sample of English Roses adorned in sparkling, gold stars with plum and dark green accents.

THE DETROIT INSTITUTE OF ARTS

When I pick up my laptop to write or research an idea, I inevitably find myself scrolling through wallpaper sites within a matter of seconds. I can’t help myself! Obsessive-compulsive disorder, OCD, is an anxiety disorder in which people are driven to repeat the same act, such as washing their hands (or scrolling through wallpaper Websites), over and over again, usually for many hours. 

Could the remedy to my compulsiveness come in the form of finding the perfect wall covering, literally, as soon as possible? Does the perfect wallpaper actually exist? This latter question conjures-up even more anxiety and plunges me into the abyss and I find myself clawing my way back up to the surface in order to find life sustaining oxygen and glorious light I require.

After refinishing an antique dresser (to be used as our bathroom vanity) in deep, emerald tones with gold and copper accents, the need for another design statement hit my decorating sensibilities. I decided that wallpaper was the smart approach that would add a certain je ne sais quoi and make a very personal statement in our new bath. I am, usually, a pretty precise and capable person when it comes to knowing what I want, but this wallpaper thing has, absolutely, thrown me through a loop.

MY REFURBISHED ANTIQUE DRESSER

First of all, it’s not an inexpensive endeavor. The product has been improved beyond expectations since decorating our first home in 1973. We all know that with improvements and time comes equated expense. Did you know it’s washable now? Sure, washable vinyl has been around for a very long time, but this new generation of paper is durable and reaches far beyond the stodgy Victorian wall coverings that older homes epitomized. I recall having to peel back at least five layers of paper from the walls of our Victorian home before we could paint; like peeling the layers of an onion, our home’s history unfolded before my eyes.

For now, many samples are piled-up on my oak library table with golden rays of sunlight shining on them via the bent mini-blind slats that are disliked even more than the difficult task of choosing the perfect paper. In addition, green painter’s tape secures even more samples to the wall above the new vanity. Dan accurately mentioned that if I got a few more samples, we could just cover the walls with them and enjoy an eclectic array of color and style and it would be much less expensive. He really does make a valid point.

A pile of wallpaper samples: a proclamation of how important the design of one room can be; a sign of respect consigned to posterity. I’ll get to where I want to be—sooner or later. True perfection always takes time and patience in the making, right?

Copyright © 2022 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

THE YEARS BETWEEN

 

A series of essays….

FOR JUST A FEW MOMENTS IN TIME SHE IS FEELING INTENSELY 
AGAIN AS WHEN SHE WERE YOUNG…

….as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

Settling comfortably into the plush velvet chair, remarkably the exact shade of blue as his eyes, she is offered something to drink. Her playful personality wants to ask for a gin & tonic, but she settles for a glass of water and prepares for the long afternoon.

Lately, her simple pleasure has been looking back into the past and knowing that the present represents the culmination of everyone and everything she has come to know and care about. She contends that the stabilizer of life’s many chapters is the love interwoven within the interesting years between.

She has skipped, hopped, and wobbled through the early years like a flat stone tossed across the surface of a calm lake only to sink below its depths, each time, after the momentum had vanished. These are the years between, marking numerous pink, glittery birthday parties, visits to her grandparent’s farm when she helped to gather fresh eggs from the henhouse with grandma, baton and ballet lessons, and building snow forts with her cousins on blustery January afternoons.

The years between were a progression of choreographed moves from one city to another, attempting to balance school, friendships, and family life while growing-up in a time froth with discussions about when will we have to move again and coupled with the daunting possibility of nuclear war! A time when poodle skirts, saddle shoes, and choo choo bags were fashion icons along with pegged pants, copious amounts of hair gel, and going to the nearest music store to pick out a new ‘single’ to be played on the red and white, 45 rpm record player in her current rental bedroom. 

Growing into her high school days generously stretched out between post-game dances, which teachers and classes she enjoyed the most, and whether to try-out for the school play. These years, among her most vulnerable, played forward with the velocity of a high-speed train, marking summer flirtations with boys from Latvia who acquired various kinds of alcohol from mysterious sources and learning, first hand, when the fun stopped and life became, inordinately, real. These were the true learning curves she needed in order to catalog life in accurate terms while taking deep breaths and counting to ten.

As suddenly as the arrival of a pounding Floridian storm, her life changed forever. Her sophomore year at State is when their eyes met for the very first time. How simple it was to sink into their watery depths, never wanting to come-up for air or mortal sustenance. Falling in love and being loved became—breathtaking! Campus sparkled even on a cloudy day and navigating through classes and a work-study program was soothing and agreeable as long as their lives were intertwined; their nights and weekends were spent together.

The years between then and now gave both of them purpose—after all, creating a new family will do that for you. Life itself changed day-by-day with its crazy roller coaster ride of twists and turns: getting children to school on time, taking the amazing opportunity to build a new home at twenty-five years old, losing one job only to find a better one, often living paycheck to paycheck, attending dance recitals, and watching parents grow older and then passing at such early ages, and empty nesting early enough to, practically, begin it all over again, but with grandchildren this go around.

The man and the woman lived, laughed, and loved through their pain and sorrow, as many people do. She always reasoned that it is how you learn to adjust to all of those years between that makes you better, makes you stronger, and gives you the will to carry-on. Knowing that when you look into those remarkable blue eyes, day after day, year after year, and still feel their power drawing at the heartstrings while creating new music every time, you’ve lived a very special life. She never doubted this for a moment.

They had always made a good team. Growing old together was their game plan. Being well into their eighties did not seem to slow them down a bit and their strategy for the next ten years was to keep their shoulders back, maintain a steady pace, and live each day as if it were the last; until it is the last…

Now, as she sits in the soft, comfortable chair and falls under the spell of all of the years between; a melancholic trance swoops over her in which she becomes absorbed in vivid sensory details—teardrops skittering down gentle faces, tall figures dressed in dark colors swaying in the large room, small seeds from a lemon slice swirling in her water glass—briefly soaking in the complex experience of being alive. Allowing her mind to wander, she enjoys the ride, allowing herself to differentiate between the ordinary and the epic: pages pulled from The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows.*

For just a few moments in time she is feeling intensely again as when she were young; when his deep blue eyes gazed upon the young woman who was to become his wife, mother of his children, and life partner until death do they part.

*Thoughts Inspired by The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows by John Koenig. 

Copyright © 2022 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

FIREWORKS, SHIVERS, AND A LOST CELL PHONE

 

A series of essays….

AS BEAUTIFUL AS A MONET PAINTING

….as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

It was definitely a ‘Shake, Rattle, and Roll’ kind of weekend! Our nine-month-old Goldendoodle, Bree, finally learned the major downfall of having fireworks set-off so close to our house when the Kalamazoo Country Club sent-up another spectacular display last Friday. We have not had to worry about what fireworks can do to the stability of our pets for the past six years. And…

Bree’s reaction to them was a sad reminder of having our previous fur babies learn how to cope with the genuine fear felt after each volley assaulted their nervous systems and basic wellbeing.

KCC must have repositioned their base for shooting off these colorful, gun-powdered artillery shells to a spot much closer to our house. The gut-bomb after effects seemed to penetrate much deeper this year due to their proximity. Pushing framed photos back from the edge of shelves was the order of the evening after the entire house shook and rattled as if we were in the middle of a war zone.

Some dogs are truly immune to the thunder of fireworks. Hard to believe, I know. Our daughter’s dog, Oreo, could care less about constant shelling and ground tremors. Bree, we quickly learned, is a more typical “Get me out of here” kind of pet complete with a major case of the shivers and the desire to hide anywhere she can even if she has to dig her way to China! That’s, of course, where these mini-bombs come from in the first place. Full circle. Holding her tight seems to do the trick, but any sharp bang or loud cracking sound since then gives her pause. While lifting her nose high into the air, she always makes certain the coast is clear.

Our little test of Bree’s reaction to fireworks was a prelude to bringing her to our friend’s house on the lake this past Sunday where there was to be a firework display based on the small island not too far offshore. We left her in her calm place, her crate and comfy bed insert, up in the house until her life was quieter and we came back upstairs for the night. When checking-up on her half way through the performance, it was determined that she was doing alright while snuggled up in her small, dark sanctuary.

PAYTON AND BREE BEING
INTRODUCED FOR THEIR PLAY DATE

After enjoying a gourmet breakfast prepared by our illustrious hosts, we decided to take Bree to the campus of Michigan State University and walk her around the Lewis Landscape Arboretum, one of the notable gardens that MSU takes much deserved pride in. The sun shone brightly, the grass was green and lush, and the flowers were in full, colorful bloom! Still feeling some anxiety and fatigue from her romp with Payton, a Chocolate Labrador and our friends’ beautiful fur baby, she was more than ready to have some dinner, a drink of water, and stretch-out in the back seat for the car trip home.

Forty-five minutes from campus I searched for my phone to look at all of the pictures taken over the weekend. Shivering as sharp pains ran down my arms and legs, I realized it was nowhere to be found. Dan called it from his cell phone and heard it ringing—but, from somewhere other than inside our vehicle. Quickly, he hung up.

THE LAST PICTURE TAKEN BEFORE
LEAVING THE PARKING LOT

Okay, I remembered taking Bree’s picture in the garden. Don’t panic… I was seated on the bench of a picnic table. Don’t panic… Did I set the phone down beside me when Dan took her for a walk after eating? Please don’t panic and think! Yes! It has to be on the end of the bench!

I felt a little bit better having tucked this knowledge in the forefront of my mind while Dan was already navigating the ramp onto I-96 Eastbound, back towards campus. It was a long, shaky, stressful ride for me. I know it’s just a cell phone and nearly all of the information on it (pictures, especially) is stored in the cloud, anyway. But there’s something very primal and unrelenting about having an object so personal out of your grasp and control.

By this time, my mantra changed from don’t panic to just stay calm— along with a few prayers thrown in for good measure. If someone did see it and picked it up, I only hoped they would have put it back down with the idea that its owner would surely return for it, eventually. 

Turning into the parking lot located off of Service Road, my heart skipped a beat as we approached the picnic area. A tiny, dark green, rectangular object occupied the end of the bench right where I sat almost an hour and a half before. Being caught between the emotions of fear and joy, I gingerly drifted over to the table to claim my phone; genuine relief was written all over my face as I slipped it into my bag and neatly zipped it into the confines of its familiar spot.

GREEN SPACE ON THE CAMPUS OF
MICHIGAN STATE UNIVERSITY 

Fortunately, Bree doesn’t seem to be bothered by a hearty thunder and lightning storm because we experienced several whoppers while attempting to sleep later that night. As I lay there watching the brilliant flashes and counting the seconds between them and the inevitable boom to follow, hearing not even the slightest whimper out of her, I reasoned that her personal fears stem from deep, primitive depths—just like my own. 

A rude introduction into the unknown became a powerful lesson in ‘we don’t know what we don’t know until we think we do.’ Bree’s nescience of human industrialisation (labeled good or bad) caused her to fear the world around her in the form of fireworks, even for a short period, and be able to recall that fear time and time again.

I would have gotten another phone, eventually, and life would proceed even after this major glitch of forgetfulness. But, deep inside, I believe both Bree and I experienced our own unique sense of loss; a belief that the world around us was, suddenly, shockingly our enemy and not the perfect world we were born into. It was as though a sliver of our soul had broken off and was being scattered into oblivion.

If shivering with sheer panic helped get us through it and into a better place, we must cope with our loss and learn to depend on ourselves and others to get us through the rough patches.

Copyright © 2022 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved