The Back Door
Well, it’s really our garage entrance.
Let me explain.
We live in a townhouse. To get to our front door from the guest parking spots, one must trek a mile to the east, turn north, go up a wonky flight of steps, turn west, travel around two rows of homes, across a small bridge, down a few wonky steps and boom, there’s our front door.
No one except sales reps and the UPS guy rings our front bell. Visitor parking is right outside our garage. To be nice, we tell visitors to call when they arrive and we go downstairs to open the garage door to let them in — unless we don’t like you. Heh, heh, no, really. We never make people go around the “long way”.
Unfortunately, the garage looks pretty much like a garage — tools, storage, half finished projects, muck and yuck. I’ve got it in my plans to pretty it up as much as possible, but …. it’s a garage … in my husband’s domain … could get a bit tricky talking him into it.
When you get inside the “Back Door”, you’re in A Lovely Thing’s warehouse. The sweet little child’s cabinet is a tag sale find I plan on painting — when the garage gets warmer and the paint thaws out. In the mean time, it’s stacked on a side bar.
What can I say — I’m BUSY! All the decorations have been pulled down from the rafters of that mucky garage and bins litter the living room. Really. It looks like Christmas exploded with fall out in the dining room and office, too.
I promise to take pictures of the tree. Fair warning, dear husband decorated it.
Want more NOW? Visit A Cottage Industry for a lovely tour of holiday homes.
