You can never have enough to read on an hour flight.
I recently had the honor of participating in a once-in-a-lifetime photoshoot at Audubon Park in New Orleans.
It involved a girl and her horse named Draco. It also involved me learning I have a somewhat crippling fear of large horses.
The photographer and bride wanted to go with a theme of “Enchanted Forest” so I went with a more natural, romantic look. I thought it would be a good off-set to the super lush greenery of the park.
Cabbage roses, dahlias and sweet hearts ranging in hues from ivory to blush to pinks. With tons of greens all mixed for a bouquet and a flower crown.
And even extra flowers wired up for Draco’s mane and tail.
I was sitting in the park with the photographer when the horse trainer gallops up all majestic-like n Draco.
The photographer casually asked if the horse, or giant stallion in my professional floral opinion, is calm and gentle (I think we were all a little antsy).
“No, his names Draco. Latin for Dragon. He’s pretty wild.”
Oh, well thank God.
Then while wiring flowers into his flowing mane (and simultaneously trying to control my breathing as to not fling myself into a full panic attack mode), I accidentally dropped a rose next to his gargantuan horse foot.
That rose is still there. I sure as hell wasn’t going to throw myself on that grenade.
Enchanted Forest final pics to come….
Since moving this house, the only nails I have had time to think about are the ones I hammered into the drywall. And if you knew me before, during my life in fashion, this would seem incredibly out of character for me.
I’ve come to think of my life as ‘Pre-House Margo’ and ‘Post-House Margo. ‘Pre-House Margo’ was considerably better groomed and wore dresses everyday. ‘Post-House Margo’ is covered in paint and stain and can’t paint her nails because she took up gardening. Oh, and wears running clothes everyday.
But, thankfully, I still have stylish friends.
My best friend in LA (that’s the city, not the state…) has started working for one of my favorite nail lines, NCLA. I wrote this post forever ago about ikat nail stickers. That was back in my more fashionable days, when I wrote about fashion, beauty and other topics of great importance. I believe the post I wrote yesterday was about a table I stained. Sigh.
So in the meantime, I live vicariously through her. She’s significantly cooler than me. Although she doesn’t know how to lay tile. I guess then we contribute to this friendship in different ways.
I think I should take the hint because she’s sent me some NCLA nail stickers and polishes. Which are amazing, by the way. My nail polish actually lasts through dunking my hands in buckets of roses all day.
She needs to hit up the archives and find me those ikat stickers from forever ago. Now that would be a good friend.
This gem was ‘given’ to me by the florist shop where I have been learning floral design. They were using it to store tissue paper on and had been using two ply wood boards to prop up the table panels. At least once or twice a day, I accidentally kick over the board and the ensuing thunderous near-deafening noise was driving me to the brink of insanity.
I guess at some point I had mentioned I like to refinish antiques (which sounds ridiculous coming from me, but trust me, is more ridiculous to watch) and I guess saw me as a dumping grounds for this table that’s seen better days.
By the looks of it those days were roughly 70 years ago.
But I sometimes appreciate a challenge (key word in that sentence is sometimes).
So I gave my newly acquired table a little attention. Attention in the form of me sweating and swearing in the blazing Louisiana heat.
Someone once told me, ‘in Louisiana, if you’re not sweating, you’re dead.’ And I find that sentiment to be extremely accurate.
On another note though, staining sucks.
And on another note, I hope my mother isn’t reading this because I stole these pieces from her house when I was in-town two weeks ago. She had stored them in the bathroom cabinet because my little nieces had visited and I guess children can’t be around nice things.
So their loss is my gain because my new side table looks great.
I need to go visit again. See what else I can sneak out of there with.
Several weeks ago, I was shopping at Winn Dixie (that still exists in Louisiana, as does The Piggly Wiggly) and they were having a sale on lemon trees.
To this day, one of the greatest regrets in my life would be not buying that lemon tree. Why did I choose that one moment to be practical? I’m never practical. I’m a ‘chips land wherever and deal with it later’ type of girl.
But I told myself I would come back for lemon tree. And I did.
And lemon tree was gone.
But fate intervened.
The other morning I woke up and the first thing I thought was ‘by God, today I’m buying a lemon tree.’ So I roll over, grab my phone and looked on Amazon Prime. When I want something, I want it now. Prime honestly isn’t fast enough, I wanted lemon tree in bed with me at that moment.
So I dragged myself out of bed to get to Home Depot by 7am (I know, weird) and was perusing the caladium sale ($3 for quart sized caladiums! It looks like a caladium bomb exploded all over my front and backyard) and imagine my surprise when I saw rows of citrus trees.
As I dug my way through all the trees, I found the last lemon tree. Apparently everyone else feels the same way I do about kumquat trees (who wants whatever that is?) and it was a pink lemon tree. Pink lemons!
The only way I could be more excited about this tree was if it was pink. Pink lemons!
To go with my new found purchase, I fell in love with the idea of putting it in a yellow pot. I should have put it in a pink pot since it’s pink lemons (!) but The Boyfriend only lets me go so far.
Well, Home Depot has a great ceramic one for $42, which is so ludicrous I can’t even wrap my mind around it, so I bought a cheap plastic one and a can of glossy spray paint and made my own.
I’m a cheap DIY genius.
Winn Dixie can keep their dumb yellow lemon trees. And they don’t even sell caladiums. But they do have great egg prices.
This morning I started promptly at 6am, was at Home Depot by 7 (to buy at lemon tree that I decided I absolutely had to have at 6am), had painted a fence by 8am (sounds weirder than it was and it was spray paint; I freaking love spray paint) and by 9am was over this day already.
That was, until I walked into the garage and saw we still had one last box to unpack. Just when I’m positive I couldn’t possibly own any more crap, another box materializes.
But then I got excited. What could it be? More dresses? Suddenly I couldn’t wait to get it opened.
How did I not notice we lived in a library before we left Texas. The last book I read that was actually made out of paper was probably over four years ago.
So as I unpacked (and was heckled for my
slowness incredible accuracy), I started to wonder where exactly these new found books were going to go. And then on a sidenote, wondered why we have four copies of Runaway Jury by John Grissom. Honestly, who even needs one copy?
I had set up a reading nook under the stairs the other day, but quickly realized that while antiques add an amazing aesthetic value, they’re a horrible option when aiming for comfort.
So this time I set out to create a more comfortable sitting/reading area in our bedroom.
I had to work within a budget of $0 on this improptu project, so I, once again, went shopping in my garage.
I remembered seeing a table of some sort in there fairly recently, so that combined with some vintage Vogue magazines, I was still within my budget.
Oh, and some granite coasters I had made from leftover granite from the kitchen remodel.
So for the rest of the day, I’m going to sit in this chair, read non-paper books on kindle and drink margaritas.
Except I hate it.
Pre-remodel, the bathroom looked like a 70’s Greek revival. Post-remodel, it looks like it belongs in an expensive bachelor pad. Neither theme really appealed to me (I just thank God there’s no more carpet) so I set out to add a little color.
And I wanted to do so by spending zero dollars. I’m positive next time I step into an antiques store my Visa will spontaneously combust. So instead, I stepped into my garage (currently full of crap) and went shopping among things I already own.
Eight minutes later I’m slightly happier with my bathroom. It’s not a major change (next bathroom I get my hands on I’m wallpapering), but enough to make a small impact.
Fortunately for me, my cousin is an amazing artist. Unfortunately for her, one time when she was out of town, I raided her closet and ‘grab-and-dashed’ all I could get my hands on. Thankfully she lives in New York and not New Orleans. If she walked through my house she’d probably call the cops.
Win-win. I need to go shopping in my garage more often.
This is what my day (d)evolved into.
I began early this morning, determined to finally outwit the deer that are eating all the roses I spent hundreds of dollars on.
While in Alaska (weird beginning to any sentence), I learned when Alaskans want to keep deer away, they spray their gardens with cougar pee. Well, first of all I don’t want to do that, and second, I’m afraid it will scare off deer and bring around the cougars. And I really don’t want that.
Instead I went to Home Depot, where I bought some spray of the non-cougar pee variety that’s supposed to keep deer and rabbits away (and ideally the neighbor’s golden retriever that uses my yard as its personal bathroom twice a day).
So I hosed down my garden, i.e. rose graveyard, and planted a bougainvillea I bought on sale at HD. When I ask why my bougainvillea (normally $49.95) was only $8, he said, “I don’t know, but if it dies in the next week or so just bring it back with the receipt.” That sounds sketchy at best, and the odds of me digging up a dead bush, throwing it in the back of my car, driving across town and returning it for the large sum of $8 is pretty slim.
But thankfully the weather went south, thank God because I was sooo over gardening, and I brought the party inside. And we all know what that means, time for flamingo beer.
I saw these online and although I don’t have a pool, these obviously were a necessity.
I received this antique sewing machine from my grandmother (and it belonged to her grandmother, etcetcetc…) around the time I was 21. Apparently everyone had a little too much confidence in my ability to take care of antiques, because, not only do I cringe when I think of what this table has been through, I cringe when I think of the crap I’ve decorated it with.
But thankfully, it has remained in storage the last couple years so the damage I could inflict has been minimal. Now I’m a fully functioning adult (I’m sure some people who read that will get a good laugh on that one) and can decorate a table.
Well, I at least won’t be putting Hello Kitty stickers on it this time.
And as I mentioned, since I am a fully functioning adult, I need a whiskey bar.
I had previously thought to use it as a side table and place of gorgeous piece of slate colored granite on top. My contractor said he had a piece and would give it to me for free (he used to like me). As our friendship turned into him never showing up for work and me constantly bitching at him, I realized my dreams of a granite covered side table were like dust in the wind.
Similar to my thoughts of remodeling this house on budget. God, I love remodeling.
But since, I’ve ‘revisited and revised’. I modernized my sewing table into a whiskey bar. Complete with an antique brass cat The Boyfriend bought me for my birthday last week.
And doesn’t everyone need a whisky bar? Whiskey can make all your problems go away. That is, until you wake up with the original problem and the additional new problem of being hungover.
Maybe I still have a little too much of my 21-year-old self in me. But at least my tastes in whiskey have improved…