My grandparents owned one of the most beautiful homes in the area. Very old, very lovely. My grandfather died, then my grandmother retired from nursing and moved to Arizona. The house of course was sold. First to a lawyer from NYC, then to an artist (a very successful artist). The artist put up a 2,000 square foot studio. It's almost as big as the damn house for Chirst sakes!! The property went up for sale about 2 years ago. I went on the virtual tour, everything. I wanted that house. My entire family wanted that house. Everyone except Dad. Dad grew up in the house and felt no connection to it whatsoever. I remember asking him why. He said "I've already lived in it." I said "Dad, wouldn't you enjoy coming to Thankgiving or Christmas there? You must have fond memories?" He replied, "They're memories. I've moved on." What's up with that? My wacky dad.
I didn't get the house. It was over a half million and I stopped looking because I couldn't sell this one fast enough and after calling the zoning committe realized I couldn't turn the art studio into two rentals because local zoning forbid it. However, I could subdivide the property (3 acres), turn the art studio into a home (at great expense) and sell it for about a half million! *Suze buries head in lap and rolls eyes in head.* God, please help me. Life is often so damn complicated. Is anything still simple? Anything?
I covet one thing in that room. The table, front and center. I have an insane love of tables (oh, and chairs as you all know!). Especially rustic, folk art sorta, kinda tables. It's so pretty and just the right colors. Do you see how beautiful aqua is? Yup, me too.