If you've followed the ranchburger's adventures, then you know about the curious, little room off the mudroom. It had been a creative space (along with storage) for a Nashville chef. When I saw her vase and dish collection, I knew this house might put up with me, seeing as I liked that sort of thing.
Here's how it looked the day I saw it. A blurry picture of a great space. You can see the allure: lots of shelves, natural light, and three storage closets (not pictured...yet).
I am still working on the room, but I wanted to show you what I've done so far. Everything was painted a crisp, cottage white. The old carpet was replaced.
The drapery rods were painted black (but I haven't put up the draperies just yet--or installed the rods); and I am in the process of changing out the cabinet hardware. I'd found the pulls at Pottery Barn in 2012 (you may remember them from my hardware dithering at the Georgian).
The room is bright and sunny, and it's only a few steps from the garage--and the garden. And, since the potting shed has been taken over my Men--for now, anyway--I am very happy to have a place of my own. A place where men fear to tread.
I'd planned for this space to be a dish room, but the room had other ideas. I think the old green cherry plate (below) may have had something to do with it. A sweet friend had found it for me in 1993, when I was remodeling a 100 year old house. The plate always reminds me of good times . . . and something more, something magical. Objects can evoke memories, allowing us to time travel a bit.
While unpacking, I found one of my grandmother's tea towels. She loved herbs, too. I remember when my baby brother had been born, way back in the 50s, and I was bereaved (because I'd desperately wanted a sister, not a skinny baby boy who cried all the time). My Mimi drove to New Orleans and brought me back to Mississippi. It was mid-September, but her herbs were huge and lush. We weeded and made posies and picked dill for her famous potato salad.
Six decades later, irreplaceable memories are wrapped up in that tea towel. I can smell the damp earth, the pine trees, the fresh dill. I remember how my grandmother's apron pockets bulged with herbs and how, that night, her hands smelled fragrant.
Many years ago, I found the pottery leaf plates. I've been trying to remember where, but I can't. Maybe it'll come back to me. In the tall wooden box, the trinket on top is a Pistoulet box that I used in a Novel Baker adventure, also very dear.
I'm calling this space The Cozy Room.