There are people like Claude of Blogging in Paris and others I know who do excellent photos. And then there’s me. After you see what’s below, you won’t have a lot of trouble agreeing with the first comment from yesterday. So think of these as documentary – a record of a point in time at a certain place - because they are a long way from art or, even, artful.
To place us in context, here is the apartment on Bedford Street in New York City in the early morning hours of 25 May when the movers were due any minute.
Fifteen days later on 9 June, again in the early morning, a mover carried the first box into the library of our new home in Portland, Maine.
Although a wall of bookshelves to the right of those windows must be built and installed before I can unpack the 50-odd boxes of books, by Friday 16 June, the library was usable.
It is the library and not the living room because I have always wanted a separate library and I have plenty of other space for visitors to sit or dine or hang out and talk – which doesn’t mean they can’t spill over into the library too.
Besides the shelving, I also need two deliciously comfy, overstuffed reading chairs. Which can’t be done with online shopping. Reading chairs, the kind that are meant for falling asleep in late at night, must be sat in, perhaps at some length, to be certain they are just the right fit and coziness.
The sideboard, the origin of which I’ve written about here, is on the library wall opposite the bay windows. Since yesterday, Ollie has mastered the art of opening the cupboard doors and has found within an excellent snoozing nest. He likes the second door, which is the one at the far left in this photo.
The kitchen has so much fancy equipment that I can almost believe the stove and refrigerator operate as on Star Trek: The Next Generation. All I need do is hold a glass in an opening in the refrigerator door for ice, crushed ice or cold, filtered water. The only thing missing is voice activation.
My treasured, round, oak dining table, which seemed enormous in the cramped New York dining area, is dwarfed now, but there is a lot of extra space between it and the library doors to create another sitting area.
This is the view through the sliding glass door in my bedroom onto the back deck. That wrought iron table and chairs, like the dining table, seem like miniatures now, but I’ll find other ways to fill the space.
Meanwhile Ollie, who hardly ever used the sofa when we lived in New York, now thinks it’s a lovely place for an afternoon snooze.
Little is in its right place yet, but at least all the boxes (not counting books) are emptied and the rest of settling in must await the purchase and delivery of new beds, dressers, dining chairs, library chairs and sitting room chairs along with sundry lamps and tables.