I've got just the thing, though, to help distract me: some great pictures of my mother's home. She lives in a suburb of New Orleans, on a street lined with trees (actually quite a rarity in her part of town) and potholes (fairy common, unfortunately. Side note: mom tells stories of potholes big enough to put refrigerators in. And people actually do it since the city prioritizes crime over street maintenance. Geez). Her home has about 3 feet of clearance on each side as well as a cute little backyard with a pool. Before you ask, yes, she stayed for The Storm. No, I haven't forgiven her yet. And No, her house did not flood. Lucky lady, that woman!
Anyway, enough talk.
We did a lot of reading. Even Winslow got in on the game.
My mother rocks her wood paneling. I love the art work--colored pencil drawings by Carol Scott, her childhood friend--as well as her portrait. And those angels are beautiful, too.
The sofa is an American antique.
A true Whitman Sampler (no chocolate, though).
A piece by Clementine Hunter. More angels.
Monkeys. Big Monkeys. And why does the 'hear no evil' monkey have a Band-aid on his left knee?
Ah, yes. Yours truly inspired the artist. Oh stop. I'll be signing autographs this evening.
A little peak at my Chinese wedding bed. Pictures do not do it justice.
A photo of my brother while we were in Tahiti. And a mask--she's in New Orleans, remember?
The travel wall. My mother has inspired me to rarely leave a wall uncovered.
Hardware on the kitchen cabinets.
My current favorite.
She managed to take one of the most hideous bathrooms known to man and make it interesting. Pink tile can be cool. All you need is an elephant. And orange paint.
I hope you've enjoyed our little quasi-tour through my mother's Metairie abode. Her home is very very dark, making it quite a challenge to take good pictures. But I think you get the idea.