Sighs of relief everyone. The dining room light situation is resolved.
Bubble it is.
Those terrible weeks of baited breath and restless nights are a thing of the past, so feel free to revel in relief as that desperate anxiousness in your heart melts away. Because yes. OH YES. The single most important lighting decision of our time concerning a dining room in a nondescript vintage home in a crappy neighborhood in the armpit of the Inland Empire has been made.
Look at how this lamp can now turn on and illuminate stuff. Stuff like dinner.
Spectacular.
It’s like we finally connected those funny wires that stick out of the ceiling to the funny wires that stick out of the cord in order to fully commit to that good ‘ol ubiquitous Nelson bubble lamp in a dining room thing. And you know what? I love it. Unashamedly.
Goodbye pretensions. Hello thirty six inches of iconic mid century design.
Something feels different here…
Less fibery? More green? Somehow ruggy?
Pointless meandering aside, there’s obviously been a couple of additions and changes in the past few weeks that made the big bubble finally feel like the right choice. Firstly, yes, the amazingly huge fiber art wall hanging has moved (and not very far). Then the crazy grandma plant (or philodendron if you want to get all correct or something) was moved from the bedroom into here for some ‘effing greenery. Finally.
Plants make a room. This truth I live by, but somehow can’t enforce around the house.
Oh, then lastly, I slammed the old living room cowhide rug under the dining table. Rug action in the dining room finally seemed to make sense when paired with the Moroccan rug situation happening in the living room.
This incredible 70’s hand cut paper wall sculpture was a recent thrifty find at a local consignment/antique type shop. I believe I actually gasped out loud when I saw it leaning against the wall and then gasped again when I saw the affordable price.
Huge, handmade, strangely heavy, unsigned and beautiful. I could not love it more.
Reminds me of Greg Copeland for sure, but feels more like a study or experimental piece someone was playing around with.
My once lush and rampantly growing philodendron seems to have gotten a little stressed out after the move. I was hoping to break old patterns of neglect and serial plant killing by being a better and more attentive plant owner, but just ended up over-watering the thing.
Ironically, this baby prefers abuse.
Stupid plants. Make up your minds.
Also, the butterfly’s are back.
I probably should focus on being a better and more attentive blogger. Or on finishing some projects (like painting and fixing up that busted pocket door). Or clearing out some of the piles of vintage stuff laying just outside the cameras frame.
Yeah, this is all an illusion of organized cleanliness. Reality is much more cluttered.
