Stuffing In More Stuff

You wouldn't think, to look at it,
that our old house is made of elastic.

Turns out, it is not.

Despite our best efforts to make it so, it is not made of elastic.

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Turns out, cedar clapboards will only stretch so far

to accommodate too much stuff.

In the past 10 days, we've incorporated much of my cousin Janet's

belongings from her Philadelphia apartment into That Old House.

An old jelly cupboard, that was loaded with . . .

art supplies!  Boxes and boxes of them.

Then there are the paintings.

Janet's brother, my cousin Bill, was an accomplished artist,

as was their mother, my Aunt Lillian.

(For whom our daughter Anne Lillian is named.)  

Some of the paintings have gone, or are going, to other family members.

Some will live here at That Old House. 

Like this one, above the study sofa.

These two are casually leaning up against the parlor mantel,

as they wait to learn where they will live.

I think this is one that my sister will want.

So, Peggy - items left more than 30 days become the property of the management.

I'm just letting you know.

This big oil is destined for the beach house.  Perfect colors, perfect size.

This still life of fruit, by my Aunt Lillian, has found its home in our dining room.

Yes, there are more paintings.  They are not the stuff problem!

No, I'm afraid the real stuff problem stems from the boxes from Janet's apartment,

combined with our Annie's moving back to That Old House from her apartment in New Brunswick.

Kitchen boxes from Anne's kitchen.  Now in my kitchen.

On Tuesday of this week, Anne moved back home until she can afford an apartment.

She gave away some of her furniture to friends, but some (lots?) came home with her.

Like these big Frenchy dudes, squatting in our study for the time being.

A 1980s vintage Ethan Allen Swedish style settee and some other things are shoe-horned into the

dining room.  By the way, that's another cousin Bill painting on the wall -- the seagulls.

That is not its permanent home; Howard hung it there to keep it safe.

In the front hall, plastic bins and a suitcase.

In the sunroom, we welcome back the Art Deco cocktail table.

And when we say cocktail table,

 we really mean cocktail table!  Hidden bars swing out from each end of this cutie.

 There is stuff all over the place.  I have not photographed the worst of the clutter,

and I'm not even bringing the camera upstairs, where the movers brought most of the boxes and furniture.

It doesn't seem possible that it has been three years since I wrote a blog post about Anne shopping our house

to furnish her grad school apartment.  Wow.  Time does indeed fly.  Three years later, and she's gotten

her Masters in Fine Arts, and yesterday wrapped up her first professional gig, and has two more lined up.  

And I'm still here, still trying to finish decorating That Old House.

Howard lay down the law this morning, as he picked his way through boxes

and climbed over small tables and bins.  Two words: "Storage unit."

Well, I'll get a storage unit.  After all, Howard got his new toy:

Okay, I am lying. 

That is Howard in the driver's seat of that Porsche.

 And my niece Mary in the passenger seat.

And this is Howard painfully unfolding himself from the driver's seat of the Porsche,

which clearly is designed to be driven by people too young to afford it.

But the car belongs to my brother Lindy.

Yes, he has good toys, and he plays nice and shares them.

Now about that storage unit -- I just hate paying money to store stuff.

Hmmm . . . think I can sell that cocktail table at my booth?

What about those two big Frenchy chairs?

Sshhh . . . don't tell Anne.

Do you know I have not posted in almost 2 weeks?

Between Janet's passing and Anne's graduation, my mind has not been much in blog mode.

By now, though, I've got a long list of projects for That Old House.  You'll see!  

Have a lovely Thursday!  -- Cass