It happened when Ken was out of town.
3am, to be exact, when the toddler was in one of his weird sleep patterns, the kind where he wakes hungry and vibrant in the middle of the night, running wildly around the kitchen island, banging pots and pans, bunting golf balls, hollering nonsense after nonsense and crashing into a heap just before sunrise (just as, of course, his sister bounds from her bedroom, up and at ’em, asking for eggs).
A full night’s sleep, in our home, is a particular fable.
And so: it was somewhere between the golf balls and the pans that I became dissatisfied with the state of our kitchen wall. The entirety is coated in dry erase paint – a once-hub for dinner party entertainment, for grocery lists or love notes, for dentist appointment reminders. But the paint was fading and the marker difficult to erase, leaving behind a near-constant smattering of smudged words and incoherent phrases.
It began to bother me is all, and while I am generally one to frown upon making rash decisions while the moon is still high, it occurred to me that a simple solution was just one room over in the office.
An old book of quotations, a new roll of masking tape.
That’s a saying, right? If you can’t beat it, cover it?
Scout took a break from his colander ballad to aid in tearing out page after page of Bartlett’s and after a short half hour I’d hidden the dirty dry erase wall with wise literature, witty remarks. There’s no tutorial, because the fact of the matter is that the project works with anything at all – recipes, letters, children’s artwork – all of the above.
The solution is entirely temporary, of course. In our home, the bottom third (up to Scout’s precise height) has been tugged and pulled from every direction, re-taped in every pattern imaginable. But I like it.
I like walking by and catching a glimpse of Emily Post’s heed, of David Foster Wallace’s mind. I like that guests come into the kitchen, raise an eyebrow, wonder aloud what sort of experiment it might be. I like that the kids are surrounded by the greats, able to eavesdrop on an era or two while peeling their morning clementines.
And so it is with many-a-thing: the simple becomes surprising, resourcefulness its own reward.
As with Arthur Ashe’s words now taped to my kitchen wall, in matters of life and decor, “Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.”
Tell me: what mini-makeovers are you tackling in your home? I’d love to hear!