Low Places

For years my husband and I couldn’t afford to fix the house. Our two children were in college and they siphoned all our money. In those days changing the color of my hair was the big adventure. We ate the weekly specials at the supermarket. Date night was a shared cone from the ice cream truck in the neighborhood.

Now the children have graduated and are on their own. My husband and I painted the inside of the house (to get rid of all evidence of hand prints, dog scratches and food splatters), put in new carpeting (the old one had so many pee stains from the dog it looked like a two-toned design), new windows to keep up with the Joneses, (in this case it was the Chens), and we installed mirrored doors on the bedroom closets (for years I didn’t know what I looked like from the waist down).

I asked my husband where we would hang our pictures.

“We’re not,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“We’re selling the house, remember? I don’t want nail holes in the walls.”

“But…but,” I said.

“It’s the minimalist look,” he said.

After a while I had to have some color in the rooms. I hit on an idea. I pulled out my pictures and paintings and leaned them up against the wall, mostly at floor level.

Now when you come into my house you’ll see my artwork in every room, including the hall. It’s taken me a while to get used to the new height but it works.

I’m starting a new trend. It’s called, “Art for low places. Down is the new up.”

Calvin says, “I love low places. That’s where I live. Thanks for the art infusion.”

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