The room is small, and in desperate need of things to go on the walls (especially to cover the attic access - where the raccoon lives.) But it's cozy and perfect for our needs. We probably could use some proper window coverings. Finn destroyed the blinds the first time we left him home alone with access to this room - he NEEDED to see outside, you see. NEEDED. Blinds be damned. I use that old blue sheet to cover the windows at night - to keep the peepers out. We don't own curtains, other than the sheers that cover the windows on the front of the house (sheers that were here when we moved in); well, Jimi "made" some light-cancelling drapes for the living room. (By "made", I mean he found some burgundy corduroy and cut it to length and hung it on a curtain rod via those rings that have clips on the bottom.) Basically, we suck at decorating. We live in a world of hodgepodge and I love it.
This is Squiggs. He was Jimi's before we knew each other and he's one of my favorite pieces of art that we own. He's had a rough go of it (note the flaked paint around his neck, where he's been folded for moving and storage), but I think the marks add character.
Hobart belonged to my Granny, and I've loved him since I was a small child. I'm amazed that his ears haven't been destroyed over the years, but Granny was sure to let us know what was and was not appropriate when handling her breakable things.
And my husband (ex-husband) - he said the owl was ugly, and he didn't want it in his house. This was all happening, I later learned, about 6 months after he'd decided he didn't want to be married anymore - just over a year before he would tell me his decision. Looking back on much of the way he was to me during this time period, I can only conclude that he was trying to be as big a dick as possible, in hopes that I'd ask for divorce and save him the trouble. That's the only reason I can imagine he would've used such mean words with me the day after we'd buried my beloved Granny, in regards to something that would always be cherished and remind me of her.
Jimi, though - Jimi was helping me get the last of my things that were stored at my Momma's house, shortly after we'd signed the lease on our first place together. I'd shown him the owl sheepishly, apologizing for its appearance, but shyly explaining that it was my Granny's, and that it'd been one of my favorite of her possessions when I was a child. Could we maybe find a place for it in our new home? Somewhere out of the way, but a place where I could see it every now and then?
Our rental was a shotgun in the ghetto between Old Louisville and Germantown, and our master bedroom was the living room and held the entryway once-upon-a-time. As a result, there had originally been no closet in the room, but somewhere along the way, someone built one out into the room - a 6' x 6' x 3' box that took up a corner, with plenty of space on top for storage due to the fact that the house had 12' ceilings. We'd already piled up there disassembled chairs and boxes of crystal and such that had no place in the small confines of this new abode.
"We'll call him Hobart," Jimi declared. "Hobart the Hoot Owl. And he can live on top of the closet in our bedroom, and watch over us while we sleep to keep the bad things away."
This man makes me swoon.