But some of it also has to do with our decor. Put simply, we have done a lot with our living space. Somebody once referred to me as "a bush league Martha Stewart." She hated my guts, but I took her insult as a compliment. From earliest childhood I was always rearranging the furniture in my bedroom, experimenting with painting (my parents freaked when they came home one day and found that I had painted my bedroom walls yellow, with black trim on the baseboards and window frames -- I was five years old at the time), raiding the linen closet to find sheets and curtains to match my latest color scheme (and making new ones out of old scraps), and generally having a grand time "playing house."
Our place here in Setauket has been great fun to decorate. We live in a small, two-story rear building which was the carriage house for the mid-19th-century house in front. It still has most of its picturesque original exterior details: twin barn doors, shingled construction, steep roof. Downstairs are the kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom. Upstairs is where we spend most of our time; I do all my writing and composing there. It's a large room that used to be the hayloft, but it was rebuilt as an apartment probably in the 1920s. Three walls have pairs of four-paned sash windows, and there's a high ceiling with a skylight. The original support beams, with visible adze marks, are still in place in opposite corners of the room. This room is full of light all year, and each set of windows has a lovely view. When I sit at the computer working, I feel as if I'm on the bridge of a magical ship, sailing through a sea of trees.
Our decor is, I think, unique. I'm a writer and musician, and Eric currently has a long-term high school sub job. We have no disposable income. Anything we want to accomplish must be done with imagination rather than cash. In a way, our limitations are what sets our decor apart from what is commonly seen in shelter magazines, hip publications, and catalogs. If you have enough money, it's easy to go to some emporium and put in an order for a completely coordinated living room, bedroom, or kitchen. Worse, when they see you and your wallet coming, they'll send their house "decorator" or "designer" to meet you, and before you know it, you'll have been strong-armed into buying an 18-wheeler-load of "good taste", all your credit cards will be maxed out...and none of it will reflect your ideas, feelings, inspirations, or needs in the slightest.
My personal secret for home decoration is simple. I've learned the finer points of dumpster diving.
Here on the North Shore of Long Island, people redecorate often. There are two garbage collections a week. The night before, people put large items at the curb for pick-up the next morning. These items are often nearly new, or at least in garage-sale condition. They can include major appliances, sofas, chairs, desks, tables, rugs, kitchen cabinets, artwork...you name it. I have gotten into the pleasant habit of cruising the streets the night before trash day. Sometimes I have to bribe Big Mike with a bottle of vodka to drive over in his van so I can collect an item that's too big to fit into my 13-year-old Mazda hatchback. The rest of the time, Eric and I just grab the object in question, wrestle it into the car, and bring it home.
Sunday nights are often especially fruitful, because the majority of garage and tag sales are held on weekends. Many things that went unsold are disgustedly dumped at the curb on a Sunday afternoon or evening.
Looking up from my computer I can see numerous rare finds obtained on "Big Trash Night": a graceful wing chair, c.1925, upholstered in white brocade; a "Mission" style wall mirror; a Chippendale chair; a set of four antique pressback chairs with cane seats; miscellaneous pottery; antique lamps...and that's not all by a long shot. Last year John and his housemates found a mint condition electric range at the curb. He's currently keeping his eye peeled for a recliner. Eric and I could use a washer and dryer. I have no doubt that we'll all find what we seek sooner or later.
With a little ingenuity and a bit of elbow grease, these orphaned treasures have been redeemed from ignominy and destruction, kept from clogging landfills and dumps, and restored to their rightful place as treasured elements in our decor. I feel good about it. Maybe even smug. And why not? It beats being an overextended robot with a houseful of this season's furnishing fads. And besides, if I wait until next year, I'll probably wind up with your furniture anyway...for free!
