I thought I’d gotten my act together on the home-office-tech front in Ojai. I planned for a long, shallow desk whose view of our backyard would reflect natural light on my face, which everyone over 50 appreciates for Zooms. I’ve been a laptop loyalist since 1993, but I finally broke down and got a monitor. (Apple sells refurbished and certified studio displays on their site for a few hundred dollars less than new ones, btw.) I would now be able to read spreadsheets without squinting and feel closer to colleagues onscreen.
I spent last winter and spring working at our dining room table, which produced back pain and general crankiness. In truth, I get cranky about anything that interferes with work, but that’s more of an issue for my therapist. ...
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In a sign of what was to come, I bought these vintage cantaloupe bowls while we were mid-renovation. They look right at home in our open kitchen shelves.
There was a period of my life when I tightly edited my wardrobe so I could buy fewer, nicer things that would mix and match. I didn’t want to have to ponder outfits, because I didn’t have time to decide what to wear. Tad and I were in that era of parenting where by Sunday afternoon, we’d just sprawl out on the floor of our kids’ room and stare exhaustedly at the ceiling.
My clothing range, such as it was, involved only solids in the following colors: black, charcoal, brown, and dark blue. You could call it safe. Or, go ahead, you could call it boring.
This effort to govern the chaos extended to our home. I worked in Manhattan so I was hustling around to meetings all day, then back to Brooklyn. Life outside of our apartment seemed to vibrate and flash. I needed our home to feel quiet, an oasis, so we narrowed the palette of our furnishings to dark blues, grays, and a little mossy green, paired with woods and dark metals. We never got into the tyranny of cream that took over American design a few years ago, but I get it. When the world feels frenetic or off-kilter, a visually quiet home can be a life preserver.
“Most potters, they go in for earth tones and subdued things, and I like color.”
— Beatrice Wood, artist and key figure of the Dada movement, who lived in Ojai
We’re mostly done working with Reath (for now!), so I’ve been left to my own devices when it comes to the smaller goods around the house. And, friends, something has been stirred within me. First of all, I keep buying clothes with flower prints and plaids. And I also keep finding myself drawn to tableware with profusions of color.
There’s one part of our outdoor set-up that I haven’t yet figured out: the open space between our pizza oven and grill and a seating area. The original plan was to build a small island on wheels that could be used as a serving table, back-up prep space, or bar when we’re entertaining, but it hadn’t been made by the time we were moving in, and then I hit pause on it after using the pizza oven a few times.
It would be great to have a place for people to gather around while I’m cooking, yet I worried about crowding the area with a tall visual obstacle. Without anything there, though, it feels bare. Guests stand around, unmoored. It’s the great outdoors—give the people places to feel sheltered and at ease!
We went with Option A (top), where the pizza oven and grill share one long surface to make room for the island, which will (never?) be installed at a later date.
While I’ve been hemming and hawing, the stone company, from whom we bought a stone slab for said island, has started charging us rent for holding onto the stone. Want to feel colossally dumb? Then rent space for a stone slab that you can’t decide what to do with.
Any Homewardians want a piece of stone that’s sitting in L.A.?
So now I’m going to publicly hem and haw and show you what I’m thinking about, and hopefully you will help me break the spell and make a decision. The comments are open! ...
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