Well, here it is, our Mary Poppins bathroom, practically perfect in every way. Remember that? I think it was written on her measuring tape.

I finally got the art on the walls and had halfway decent light. It only took six months, nearly to the day, since the whole project started, but getting all the right pieces was not so easy. So much so that I painted three myself, and made the domed whale, too.

The hubster made the cool looking screen over the window, so the neighbors won’t see us nekkid. It lets in the most marvelous light while also letting me bird watch. I’ve got my priorities straight. It will get some tweaks and a twin on the other window, but don’t fret, no one can really see in that one, unless they are actually in our yard, and then we have a problem, Houston.

Greg’s favorite piece is the ship. It’s a cross-stitch I designed to commemorate our wedding (almost nineteen years!) and sewed over many, many nights. It says, “On these seas, we sail together.”

The jellyfish and the whale I painted. Did anyone see that awesome documentary about the Sperm Whale on PBS? Goll-ee, my love for them was taken up a notch. They are amazing creatures.

I love it when the hubster sits on the bench, often with a cat on his lap, while I take a bath. He is such good company. We also like to leave notes on the chalkboard paint on the back of the door, a truly awesome idea, really. Butter!

The beautiful shower surround. We had an overhead light put in, so it is no longer cave-like. In it’s previous incarnation, our bathroom, and especially the shower, was quite dark.

Look how lovely the light is! So very bright, like bathing under the sun. The Little Man approves, too. He was meowing up a storm after I’d finished all of the photos, so I went back and took this of him. I guess he hasn’t quite gotten his fifteen minutes of fame.

If you find yourself wanting what I’ve got here and live in the Portland-Metro, give Alex from Western Oregon Builders a call, and tell him you want Colleen’s bathroom. He’ll know who you mean. Bless his heart, it might have been easier to take up residence in the guest room; he spent so much time here!

Fixtures, etc:

Rejuvenation: Porcelain Collection lights, switch plates, soap dish (the white one in the shower is original – the one item we kept), towel and toilet paper holders, fluted black glass knobs and pulls.

Kohler: Archer pedestal sink and commode, Memoirs faucet, tub spout, and shower fixtures.

Ballard Designs: Classic Bench in Arden fabric.

Land’s End: Organic Cotton towels in Light Paprika

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Without meaning to, this week I watched two films (or fil-ums as I once read in an Irish novel) that involved the murder of a child. What the h-e-double-hockey-stick kind of coincidence is that, anyway? Despite the rather gloomy subject matter, they were quite good and had me rapt.

In Bruges, takes place in, you’ll never guess, Bruges! Or “fucking Bruges” as Colin Farrell’s character often says. He plays Ray, a hit man who makes the rookie mistake of murdering a boy along with his mark. He’s in Bruges with his partner and sort of mentor, Ken (the brilliant Brendan Gleeson), while they wait for the dust to settle back in London. I’ve seen this fil-um touted as a comedy, and while there are some humorous moments, don’t go in thinking that it’s going to be funny. It’s actually very melancholy and quite beautiful, save for the end. Avert your eyes, for there will be blood, my friends.

As Ray fights their exile, forever cursing the city, and Ken embraces it, happily taking canal tours and exploring some of the oldest architecture in Europe, both struggle to come to terms with their chosen profession, a sincere loneliness, and, most importantly, the loss of the boy. They meet an assortment of characters: a caring hotel owner, an obsessive gun runner, a stunning drug dealer, and an opinionated dwarf (or midget, depending), each bringing out the essence of Ken and Ray, how they got to this place, and hope for something more. It is lovely and thoughtful in its brutality.

Troubled Water is Norwegian and tells two perspectives of the same event. The life of Thomas after his release from prison for murdering the boy, and Agnes, the mother of the murdered child. Each takes half of the film and merge in the end.

It is almost a thriller and definitely a meditation on forgiveness and reconciliation. How can you ever move on from something so horrible? Thomas tries to start fresh by becoming an organist at a church, his playing a mesmerizing gift. He likes the female priest, and her son, Jens, takes to him immediately, despite Thomas’s protests. Perhaps he is not evil?

Agnes obsesses about Thomas and what he might do now that he isn’t behind prison walls. Is she safe, her husband, their adopted daughters? Then there are the last minutes of her son’s life, never knowing exactly what happened. The truth sets them both free and has the audience (or maybe just me) gasping for breath.

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Be the Light

The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral, begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy. Instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it. Through violence you may murder the liar, but you cannot murder the lie, nor establish the truth. Through violence you may murder the hater, but you do not murder hate. In fact, violence merely increases hate. So it goes. … Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.

Martin Luther King, Jr.

I do not know to whom these boxer shorts belong, save some faceless young man with no fear of exposing his drawers. It may be slightly redundant to say that I quite like them, having taken a photo on the sly and all, neat cassette tapes and fond memories of days before digital. The beautiful garbage made after being jettisoned from a car window, brown plastic fluttering and alive in the slightest breeze.

Yesterday was a weird day, part shitty crapper-doodle, and thanks to friends near and far, part best of the best. Today is better, though cold, cold, cold. I am yearning for an escape (back here!), to lie in warmth with bright light shining in my eyes, but since there is no sun to be had for miles upon miles, and my bank account is not bottomless, I have, a la Mr. Snazzy Boxer Shorts, made a mix-tape, hoping it warms me from the inside. It’s dreamy-rocky-hip-hoppy and as golden as summer skin.

“Tequila Sunrise” – The Eagles

“Someday Some Morning Sometime” – Billy Bragg & Wilco

“Expecting to Fly” – Neil Young

“Going to California” – Led Zeppelin

“Sea Side” – Devendra Banhart

“Warrior’s Ring” – Shiva Rea Yoga Trance Dance CD, to which I lost the sleeve.

“I Know You Got Soul” – Eric B. & Rakim

“The Idiot Kings” – Soul Coughing

“Would?” – Alice in Chains

“The Golden Hour” – Marisa Anderson

“The First Taste” – Fiona Apple

“Moonlight Drive” –  The Doors

“Half-Light” – Lanterna

“The Eclipse” – Fionnuala Ni Chiosain

Our girl Paris is almost seventeen and still tears around the house like a kitten. Every day she brings us, with great fanfare – a wild chorus of meows and yelps, one of her toys, usually a mouse. She is a giant fluff of beauty, sass, and sweetness.

Even after thirteen years together, they are not great friends, Paris being the great mystifier, playing for one moment before growling fiercely and trying to beat the tar out of Milo. That being said, he does his fair share of tormenting, biting her ear to claim her warm spot a favorite pastime. Siblings at their worst, I suppose.

Look at his nutty face. Our boy is cuddly as ever and does very little running around the house, save when someone rings the doorbell, and he’s off like a shot. He’s got old man hips and a crooked gait, but will bring string or ribbon in the most nonchalant fashion and patiently wait for you to summon it to life in wild swirls on the floor, happily pouncing for one minute before getting bored and sauntering off.

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