Nearly twenty years ago, when I still lived the single life in a sunny apartment I mostly saw during the night hours, an unlikely book caught my attention. Even more unlikely, I shelled out $35 for a nearly 900 page tome titled “Home Comforts – The art and science of keeping house” by Cheryl Mendelson.
Category: Home & Decor
Philadelphia-based artist Matthew Cox layers embroidery on top of medical x-rays to create these wonderfully weird pieces. The mix of clashing mediums appeals to me: one quick, technical and impersonal, the other labor intensive, tactile and hands on. I like that one strips away and reveals while the other covers and enhances.
Posted in Home & Decor
It’s been impossible to leaf through a design or fashion magazine in the last few weeks without coming across the news that Italian designer Paola Navone had created a tableware…
I don’t want to go far anymore. I like that my grocer, hairdresser, favourite coffee shop and chemist are all in the same place. Once upon a time it would…
One of the cruelest things about retirement, especially for men – is suddenly finding you have nothing to do every day. The first thing that happens is the man tries…
I often find it interesting how the things camparigirl and I experience have a common theme. Yesterday she wrote about helping her father-in-law (Alan – an avid reader and commenter on C&S) to find somewhere happy to live and this weekend I got to meet a number of people who were willing to give their family homes up to me for cash.
No – that sounds wrong. I am looking, rather optimistically, for an affordable holiday home – a search and budget that is taking me to various small villages/towns in striking distance of Cape Town. Yesterday I went to Riviersonderend (Riverwithoutend) – a small town that straddles SA’s N2 – the national highway that follows the coast from Cape Town to the Mozambique border. At some point I am going to make that drive (a long 2 000km/1 300miles); but yesterday I was only interested in pushing the ‘must be reachable in 90mins’ rule that apparently governs the purchase of a holiday home.
When the urge strikes, or a sense of guilt takes over, I become a fury: the patio floor will be scrubbed clean; the closet will be emptied, sorted and vacuumed; the garage will be reorganized; the kitchen drawers will be rearranged and there is no stopping me until the work is done. Unlike my mother, who always found a sense of purpose in cleaning, organizing, re-arranging, in short, in keeping house, I don’t particularly enjoy the process. I find nothing meditative in it, just a compulsion to get it done and a lifelong aversion to junk and dirt. The fleeting satisfaction of admiring the patio floor devoid of bird droppings, until two days later when the cycle commences again, is not shared by anyone in my household, so I am left alone to contemplate the fruit of my fury. I don’t enjoy it, no one cares and still I do it.