The Island of Misfit Toys

I once had a brilliant idea for Kuba cloth. It was frothy and delicious and I was sure it was going to be an eye-catching, breath taking, dazzling little piece of magic. I thought this so much that I actually called a dear friend 6,000 miles away in Lusaka, had her go to the market, sweat in the sun while haggling for the price, package the cloth and send it to me. 

When I finally got the fabric, I immediately went to work, but was shocked and amazed (and not in a good way) that Plan A didn't work.  Never one to be deterred, I went on to Plan B, which didn't work either.  To make a long story short, I  quickly passed through Plans C-G and was amazed at how little it took for those genius ideas to go to pot.

At this point though, I have an impending sense of dread as I realize that if I can't figure this out, this beautiful imported, hand-crafted fabric is going to end up on "The Island of Misfit Toys".

The 'Island of Misfit Toys' is that dark place in my house where things that once, but no longer have a place to be, go to gather dust and cobwebs.  Every now and then a piece finds its way back from the abyss.  But usually they just end up on Craig'sList.  Thankfully, this story has a happy ending.

And I have a happy landing.

Deuces!

Funky I.

Powder Room 2.0-This is the remix.

You know how sometimes you really think you've got it going on?  You know, like your swag is real deep and you have really done the damn thing?  But then, like finding a picture of yourself from the 90's and wondering what the hell you were going thru to make you wear something so ridiculous, you realize that...mmmm, maybe not. Well that's what happened here.  I threw up some wallpaper, changed the mirror, the fixtures and even put up little do-dads. I was actually quite pleased with myself, thinking I had done a good job and the room was fabulous as it was. Apparently not.

On a recent shopping excursion Diva Queen B. and I got in to a friendly debate about whether you could actually find anything in a particular store (that shall remain nameless) that would ever be nice enough to go in your house. Her position was that it was like 7-Up--never had it, never will.  Mine was that there were absolutely some finds worth having and I pointed to the exact candle holders that I bought and had put in the powder room as an example. Diva got that "let me bring you back" stance and not so subtly informed me that I had gone off track with the look. You see, those candle holders I was so proud of said nothing about elegance or refinement and even though they were OK--they, not being elegant or refined, did not belong there.

...so now I'm gut punched, having lost the logical argument and having to admit when she's right.  Dang I hate that.  But now the wheels are turning and my birds (creative outbursts which fly and flutter without warning) went 100MPH in the other direction.  This is what I came up with:

The Powder Room on LaFayette Street-all in black and gold, with just a touch of mint...it reminds me a little of old New Orleans.

I think I finally got it right this time.

Deuces!

Funky I.