Mancorations - A Love Story

Last week we met with our lovely professional decorator, Ann Warsham, (decorator to the Atlanta Stars, specializing in taxidermied animal removal). Friends: The DudeRanch, despite its sturdy brick construction and multitude of mancorations, will soon submit to the unrelenting power of the female aesthetic.

Ann, Tyler, and I met to go over the new plans for the "keeping room" (where many things are "kept" except, apparently, anything of mine), kitchen, and master bedroom, but somehow in the process someone suggested adding a previously non-existent bathroom to the house. I have been told that I mutely nodded my assent.

"Muteness" certainly not being among my greater gifts, I can only assume that Warsham, Evil Queen of Stucco, cast her spell on me. I speculate my suceptibility to flattery may be partly to blame, because when I suggested installing a stainless steel firewood man-drawer next to the fireplace complete with outside-access for loading firewood directly into the kitchen - she complimented my genius. That's all I was looking for.

"Complimented my genius" may be a tad strong. She may have rolled her eyes and said "Really? Well, ok we might can make that work if we have to". My memory here is fuzzy, but I was so relieved to have them both listen to me - I just nodded from then on.

I've finally come to terms with the idea that everything I own and love is soon to disappear into the musty confines of a dimly-lit basement based on silly, nebulous criteria such as "items that might 'scare' or 'harm' young children" and "being ugly." Gone are the days of the naked bowie knife on the mantle, the "My Goodness, My Guinness" beer poster in the kitchen, and the wall-mounted bottle opener. Gone too is the "extra shotgun shell" popcorn tin. Sure, I may find a new container in which to displace extra shotgun shells that have gone through the dryer; but it won't be the same.


After my recent unfortunate run-in with my new domestic despot over Home Depot gift certificates (still haven't seen them), I was terribly pleased to walk into my new in-laws' house yesterday to find my soon-to-be father-in-law griping about "his important stuff" all ending up crammed in the basement between duplicative pieces of furniture.

Times are tough all over, but at least I'm in good company.



The Dream, though dimmed, yet lives.