Design tips and disasters, part one (the shopowner's home)

Pomegranate customers often ask us what our own house looks like, assuming, maybe, that we get to take home whatever we want (and that our house looks like a showplace). Theoretically, that could be true. But it doesn't always work that way. In fact, sometimes it looks like a warehouse. Thought I'd share some of the good and the bad here. Maybe a little series!

First, let me say that I love our house. Except for the #]&^! teeny closet of a laundry room, our house is lovely, and perfectly suited for us. Oh, there are things that really bug me that we'll deal with someday, like the vestiges of Builder's Delight Brass Fixtures. When were these things ever in style, and how did they worm their insidious way back into our homes (weren't they banned as eye pollution in the 70s)?

We have a brass and glass hanging pendant light in our entryway that is so flippin' ugly that I'd like to shoot it. If I had a weapon. Fortunately, it's way high up in the air, we never turn it on, and no one ever sees it, so it's on the bottom of the "to do" list. Plus getting up there requires a very, very tall ladder. It's not going to be easy. Meanwhile, here's a picture of a shiny brass towel rack in our master bath that has no business being on earth. Not only is it brass, but totally useless. It's located in this trapped space behind the giant tub (which I don't like either), and no human could ever reach a towel hanging there, unless you catapulted yourself into that deep space behind the useless tub. Why don't I take it off the wall? Because it will leave holes and unpainted spots, necessitating a paint job, also somewhere down near the bottom of the list. Why don't I just put a towel on it and pretend like it's useful? I don't know. The towel will just get dusty and I can't reach it unless I fling myself across the back of the tub.

For the record, I also detest the tile border, sort of a quasi-southwest desert sand abomination. I bet there's a lot of that here in Bend: somebody had a trainload of it and sold it to every builder in town. Fortunately, it's limited to just a few small spots in the house, and I will someday take great pleasure in ripping it out. Hopefully not just before we start thinking about selling the house. That's a mistake so many people make: you live with something for years, decide to sell, then make those upgrades you know you should have done years earlier. Why not do it now and enjoy the changes? This falls into the "do as I say, not do as I do" category.

My only other lament (the last one I'll share anyway so this doesn't seem too whiny) is white tile countertops in the kitchen. Granted, it's better than the cheapy blue laminate in our last kitchen, but white tile with white grout in a kitchen is just bad news. Unless you don't cook.

Back to the idea of taking home what we want. I cannot, in good conscience, complain one little bit about comfort and decorative objects and nice surroundings: we have all that. But there is sometimes a small case of the cobbler's children having no shoes. Or Family Hold Back. We often take home the poor waifs that get broken, that no one wants, because they're scratched or damaged or otherwise unsellable. If I want a new candle at home, I'll take the one that someone took out of the box and dropped. Or a tester. Dishes? A mishmash of colors that didn't sell so well, so we took home the leftovers. It's a nice mishmash – I do like them – but not my heart's desire. I think this is true of many retailers: it's really not about denying things for yourself, but more about wanting every bit of merchandise on the shelves for customers. I figure if something sells well and we place reorders for it, then eventually I will have earned the right to take one home. Why, yes, I DO want several new Maruca handbags, one in every new color, but that would just be so wrong. Somebody slap me before I do it!

My true, awful nature is that I would love to flip and change and move things and bring in new things all the time. I am the shopping monkey, afterall. But like everybody else, we've got a slim budget to stick to, and really, our shop is the priority. If there's any money available, we need to sink it into more inventory, not a linen slipcovered sofa (sigh).

Well, I didn't give you any tips this time (except for the notion that you should fix up what you can early in the game, and not a month before you sell your house). But stay tuned. There's so much more to talk about...