My Happy Place

I think we borrowed every ladder in the neighborhood.

There is nothing my daughters can’t do—they are simply the best help you can ask for.

I like to think they were smiling because they were enjoying painting…but perhaps knowing more about social media than I did.

Molly is always good for a great photo and laugh.

Alex helping to restore our two beautiful, restored, French doors that once had a story in Middletown.

At least I could say I wore eye and mouth protection. Sanding sheetrock is such a nasty job.

At last…anybody home?

My Happy Place…My Studio

I’ve had several inquiries relating to my studio…“my happy place.” My dream began about 12 years ago when I had the idea of removing a small deck off the back wing of our 1832 Gothic Revival home and building a cathedral-style library in its place. Of course, as usual with our additions, repairs, and renovations–we were on a tight budget. Having completed two successful additions to our kitchen and family room, it seemed at the time, a new library and a place to showcase a growing inventory of books was within reach. Unfortunately however, halfway through the project, the “well” began to run dry. Desert-like. It may have been my refusal to use ordinary and proven building materials to complete the framing and roof; I mean why use 2’ x 4’ walls when six inch walls would give you additional R-value…and the roof, that’s where the costs soared and nearly came to a halt. Once again I substituted 2’ x 12’ ceiling rafters for the less expensive 2’ x 8’. Neighbors asked if I was building a hurricane-hideaway instead of a place to enjoy a great book. When it came to putting the final protective layer to the roof, metal or asphalt were not an option: it had to have cedar shingles. Living in an old home, for those who haven’t experienced it, is both a tremendous challenge (there always seems to be a list of 25 things you need to do) but also a powerful, ever present feeling of stewardship. We’re only guests here.

Okay, I do understand I’m a bit off the original topic of “my happy place” but the backstory needed to be shared. We need to leave this place, this house, this home, in good shape for the next stewards. The project took over a year to complete. Thank God for family, friends, and wonderful neighbors. The interior seemed to go like a whirlwind, as my daughters helped with the sheetrock, painting, and the construction of the bookcases. After we filled the shelves with not only great novels, biographies, and history-what-nots, I made sure to display some of the treasures that have meant so much to me, but may to the onlooker be considered throwaways for sure: worn baseball cleats, a tattered flag, aluminum foil-art, a topless straw hat, a scratched Hank Williams album, and countless original Stargirl pieces that I adore. I can’t name everything, but it takes only a glance to bring me to that place where creativity commences and time stands still. My wife often comes home and after conversation of our day gone by, ask’s, “Aren’t you freezing?” Often forgetting that the temperature in my library-turned-studio is well below 50 degrees, I warm up with only a click of a switch, soon sitting next to a cozy-gas stove that tries to seduce me with its imitation logs and tantalizing flames making the room a toasty 65. A $5.00 swivel-chair, well-loved draft table, worn-braided dining-room rug, French doors laden with colorful Christmas lights and drapes that keep the very sunshine I revere, out during hot summer days. There will come a day when I too may be but a photo on the wall, thumb-tacked [hopefully] above a west facing window, where the setting sun will burn shades of lavender and hot pink and make the clouds sing as they set. Although still-like, you will see me wink and continue to call this library, this studio, my happy place.