Pic of the Day
| Quote of the Day A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, bearing within him the image of a cathedral. - Antoine de Saint-Exupery |
| You're Not Old Unless You Can Remember... 1) Being sent to the drugstore to test vacuum tubes for the TV. 2) When Kool-Aid was the only drink for kids, other than milk and sodas. 3) When there were two types of sneakers for girls and boys (Keds & PF Flyers), and the only time you wore them at school, was for "gym." 4) When it took five minutes for the TV to warm up. 5) When nearly everyone's mom was at home when the kids got there. 6) When nobody owned a purebred dog. 7) When a quarter was a decent allowance, and another quarter a huge bonus. 8) When you'd reach into a muddy gutter for a penny. 9) When girls neither dated nor kissed until late high school, if then. 10) When your mom wore nylons that came in two pieces. |
| Web Site Worth the Visit SITES TO CHECK IF SOMETHING SOUNDS SUSPICIOUS: Snopes.com Hoaxbusters.org Scambusters.com Urbanlegends.com |
A Memorial Day Service for a Soldier Who Never Served
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"Come join us for a Memorial Day Service for Donald Henderson. Donald died in the Gulf War in 1991. Let us remember him and celebrate his life in the home he always loved and died to defend".
I held the local yokel newspaper, "Village Green News" and read the small ad as I've done every year for the last ten. This year, I pondered, maybe I would attend.
For once I was engaged to Donald Henderson. Once I loved him more dearly than any man on earth. Once I kissed him goodbye the night before he left for the military duty that would cost him his life.
Two years ago I discovered that Donald Henderson had never served in the military; that he had never reported for duty. Yet Donald's mother, as she did every year on Memorial Day since the Gulf War, held a memorial garden party type of affair in memory of the son who lost in life in military action. Military action Donald had never seen.
For two years after Donald's death I had attended those sweet but sad memorials for Donald. I had been, after all, his fiancé and Donald's mother was a wonderful well-intentioned woman. It was a sweet gesture, I always thought, for her to hold a memorial service on the grand lawn of her home; a memorial service complete with the playing of Taps, the solemn raising of the flag, a nice food spread for the attendees and at least one speech in remembrance of Donald with expressions of gratefulness for his service. The first such memorial service I even gave the speech.
I met my current husband about sixteen months after Donald's death. While I attended Mrs. Henderson's memorial service the Memorial Day after this meeting, I stopped going the following year. As these things tend to go, I was married and off on a new life with a husband and now two children. Donald was gone, memorialized in my memories and stored in a cluttered corner of my mind.
"The guy told me there was no record of a Donald Henderson ever reporting for duty," I told my husband solemnly. I'd spent the day busily being connected from person to person at the Pentagon until one sympathetic employee told me that all of the files had been searched and although there was a record of a Donald Henderson signing up for the army, all records indicate he had never reported for duty.
It was a strange notion after all, this wacky idea I had to do some research on Donald, where he died, how he died, whether he won any medals. My husband, Richie, also wasn't too keen on the idea and I can't say that I blamed him. What husband would want his wife rooting around in the past, searching for information on a long ago fiancé?
Yet I was curious with a curiosity born from the attacks of September 11 and the then pending wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. As I listened to the news I would hear mention of Fallujah or Baghdad and I'd wonder where Donald had died. Or how. For with all her memorial services and newspaper ads, Donald's mother never mentioned the circumstances or locale of Donald's death in action.
"They have to be mistaken," Richie said, laying his coat wearily across the kitchen chair and shrugging a pile of papers up onto the table. Richie really worked hard as a CPA and during tax season he often brought work home and worked late into the night. "They're a bureaucracy after all," Richie continued as he hefted young Matthew into his arms for a hug and a kiss.
"Rich, I spent all day on the phone. I talked to every type of military department there is including the CIA. I simply do not believe they've lost everything about a soldier killed in action. There's something really wrong here."
Kevin, our four year old little terror, came charging into the room just then, joyous that Daddy was home and ready for his hug and kiss.
~~~
"It seems odd that no one told you anything about his death. You were his fiancé after all. I would think someone from the army would have contacted you when he was killed in action. But I still don't know what you hope to gain by looking into all this."
I reached over and grabbed the remote before Richie could get at it and turn on some sports event. We'd gotten the boys bathed and in bed. It was the end of a tiring but normal sort of day in our household. Only in this day I had to wrestle with the news that a man I'd once loved and who I thought died a hero in military action had evidently never even shown up for duty.
"Well I guess I don't know what I'm going to gain either, Rich," I said, flipping the channels in search of something besides football. Finally I settled for Dateline. "Poor Wilma," I mused aloud. "She lost two sons within a week of each other."
"You talking about Donald's retarded brother?" Rich said.
~~~
There was already a slew of cars parked outside of the Henderson house. I shoved my car to park and leaned back in my seat. The house was once a glorious homestead in an area when Village Green, a tiny part of greater Millsboro, was considered an elite section of this small Connecticut town. While the house was well-maintained, it was showing its age. I recalled the many afternoons Donald and I spent sitting on that porch swing discussing our joint future.
"We might have to take care of Joey," Donald told me one sunny afternoon.
I did not respond. The last thing I ever wanted to do was take care of Donald's autistic brother in the event of his mother's death.
It's not that Joey was all that difficult to care for. Most times he just sat in a corner and rocked back and forth. Continually. All the time. He sat cross-legged on the floor and rocked back and forth.
Joey did, however, sometimes lose his temper. I'd witnessed such a loss one time and it scared me to death. Donald and I were tossing a Frisbee on the front lawn. Joey was sitting cross-legged on the porch, rocking back and forth as per normal. Suddenly Joey sprung to his feet, ran across the lawn, knocked Donald down and began pummeling him. I screamed and ran to help Donald. Marie, quick as a whip, came out of the house, grabbed Joey by both arms and pinned them behind his back. Joey struggled to get free but Wilma held him firm and led him inside the house.
"What was that all about?"
Donald got up and was busy brushing dirt and grass from his clothes.
"Autistic people are very sensitive to sights and sounds," Donald explained. "Maybe he heard the sound of the Frisbee whirring. Maybe he saw something flying and ...," with this Donald faded off.
"So why does he attack you? What did you do?"
Donald shrugged. "Been that way all my life, Janie," Donald said with an equanimity I admired. I could not imagine a life with a sibling constantly attacking me, the shock, the surprise of it. Even more amazing, Donald was perfectly accepting of the notion that he might someday have to take Joey into his own home to care for. I, however, wasn't crazy about the notion but was so in love I brushed my concerns aside. I figured Donald and I would deal with the issue when the time was right.
A month after that sunny afternoon Donald signed up for the army.
"Janie, I've always wanted to be a soldier," Donald explained. "I'd like to make a career of it. Think you could handle being an army wife? With kids that would be army brats?"
Actually I was enamored of the notion. My then 20 years spent in Millsboro was 20 years too many. I was ready to travel, to see the world, to spend my life by my husband's side wherever we may go. Besides, I figured, a military man assigned to various and sundry places across the planet could hardly care for a retarded brother. While I very much wanted Donald always in my life, I wanted nothing to do with his strange brother.
"Janie!" a voice called out and interrupted my reverie. "I can't tell you how great it is to see you. How have you been? How are your boys?"
Marie Henderson cupped her palm under my elbow and tugged gently as urging for me to get out of the car. I told Mrs. Henderson about my family, mentioning how busy my husband was during tax season and how my boys were a handful; the sort of stuff one says to quickly summarize a fairly boring and routine life.
"The last time I saw you was almost six years ago," Mrs. Henderson said as we walked towards her big house. The party sounds of laughter and tinkling glass filled the air. It would seem that the tenth Memorial day party in memory of Donald Henderson was well under way. Only Donald was never in the army, never died in combat, did not deserve the festivities in his name no mind his good intentions once upon a time to enlist and serve. I decided to play along, hoping that I might discover something that would assuage my curious curiosity.
One can learn a lot by circulating all about during a social event. It took me all of fifteen minutes to discover that I was not the only one who had suspicions about Donald's military duty. It was snoopy old Juanita Markham who was discussing her own son's military service with another guest. "My son William was in the same unit as Donald," I overheard Mrs. Markham telling another attendee. Pretending to busy myself with picking up some fallen debris, I cocked an ear and listened in.
"Of course William reported for duty a year after Donald," Mrs. Markham continued. "But Will told me no one in his own unit or ...," with this Mrs. Markham's voice dropped an octave to adopt a stage whisper for which this town gossip was famous, "...anyone in Donald's unit that had shipped out a few months earlier, even remembered him."
I grabbed a napkin off the ground and moved on, shocked at what I'd heard. Evidently I wasn't the only one who was puzzled by the strange military service of Donald Henderson, who never reported for duty and wasn't even remembered by soldiers in his own unit.
"Bee stings," I heard another guest proclaim as I wandered around Mrs. Henderson's big yard.
"Kid died from anaphylactic shock from bee stings," the voice continued. I quickly sat down in a nearby empty chair to hear more.
I did not attend Donald's brother's funeral as I was too distraught by the news of Donald's death in combat that I'd received from Mrs. Henderson a week earlier. Of course it was a most tragic event for Mrs. Henderson, who'd just lost a son in combat and one week later lost her other son through the most horrific of accidents. Joey Henderson was deathly allergic to bee venom. I'd known that since the first day I met the boy as Donald had warned me to keep watch over where Joey wandered as a bee sting could be fatal to the kid.
Yet one week later Joey managed to get himself entangled in Marie Henderson's blackberry bushes. Somehow Joey's thrashings disturbed a nearby honeybee's nest and by the time Mrs. Henderson responded to Joey's screams and got help, Joey had already died from the bee venom. Such venom from even one bee was enough to kill Joey Henderson. The venom from the stings of an entire nest of bees was enough to stop his heart instantly.
"What was really weird, and tragic of course," the voice I'd heard earlier continued with what I thoughts was a distinct sniff, "is that Marie couldn't get an ambulance out quickly enough. This happened a year before the county's 911 system was implemented and Marie didn't have the fire department number handy."
"You'd think with an autistic kid she'd have emergency numbers right nearby," another voice said, also with a sniff.
I sunk lower into my chair and considered all I'd heard that sunny Memorial Day. It would seem quite a few folks in Millsboro thought the events leading to the deaths of Donald and Joey Henderson to be a bit odd. Yet here they all were, attending Donald Henderson's memorial service, listening to the speeches, enjoying the refreshments, and gossiping about it all as nonchalantly as if discussing the day's weather. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Millsboro police chief Anthony Roper. He wasn't in uniform, of course, but I'd recognize that cop-belly and in-charge manner anywhere.
Anthony Roper had been named police chief of the Millsboro force a year prior to Donald and Joey's death. I recalled how the whole town was happy over the appointment because at the time Millsboro was starting to have a bit of a gang problem. Our small town had always enjoyed a peaceful and crime-free reputation. When gangs of punks from all over the state began to descend on Millsboro in the early 90's, the town's elders went out to actively recruit a no-nonsense police chief to replace the chief about to retire. Anthony Roper filled that bill, having been a captain on the Boston force and with a family ready and eager to re-locate to peaceful Millsboro.
I'd told Richie I wanted to attend this annual event to learn more about Donald's death. Instead I was only more confused. With a sigh I put my drink and plate in the trash and decided it was time for me to put it all behind me. As I was about to approach Mrs. Henderson for a final goodbye, I caught the sight of the Hendersons' huge weeping willow at the end of the yard. Donald and I had spent many evenings sitting under that willow, musing about world events and planning our own future. Before taking my leave, I decided to take one last stroll around the beautiful tree under which I'd once planned a future that never happened.
I saw the grave marker after two pensive walks around the tree. It wasn't a human grave marker. It was a gravestone sold to mark the final resting place of beloved pets, a sort of cute thing one can purchase in any variety of mail-order catalogues. I peered down as these things can be personalized. For all the times Donald and I spent sitting under this tree I'd never seen this pet grave marker and indeed, don't recall Donald having a pet or mentioning one from his past.
The word "Bumpkis" was engraved in the resin marker. The dates 1985 to 1990 were underneath what was ostensibly the name of the pet buried beneath. The dates meant nothing to me except they were dates that would have had this pet marker around during the days Donald and I sat beneath that tree. I was more shocked by the pet's name.
"My Dad used to call me Bumpkis," Donald told me one night as I tried to understand the garbled word that Joey always used to call his brother. "Joey still calls me that only it comes out all weird like because of Joey's slur," Donald explained. I recall Donald's shrug when I asked why his father called him by that unusual name. "Ma says it's because as a toddler I was always running into things. I don't really remember as I was only six when Dad died. Funny that Joey remembers it, though," Donald said as he gazed into a clear blue sky, lost in memory. "Joey was only three when Dad died."
I was trying to group it all in my head when I heard the booming voice of Anthony Roper behind me.
"Donald Henderson loved that dog," Chief Roper said as he came alongside me and gazed upon the pet grave marker. "I didn't know the dog but I hear the little mutt was beloved by both Donald and Joey." I glanced over to Millsboro's police chief for the last twelve years or so, puzzled. I was pretty sure there had never been a pet dog named Bumpkis owned by the Henderson family and I was really confused by how Chief Roper seemed to be going out of his way to verify the dog's existence. Chief Roper held out his hand for a handshake. I responded appropriately.
"I remember how much you and Donald Henderson loved each other," the police Chief said, lost in a muse that seemed to exclude me. "I'd only been on the job a little over nine months when Donald left for the army. But I'd learned the names of most of the town folk by that time. The deaths of both Donald and Joey Henderson within a week of each other was the first tragedy I had to deal with after moving to Millsboro. A big city like Boston, you don't get to know people as intimately as in a small town."
Chief Roper was regarding a crystal blue sky as he spoke, the same sort of sky Donald and I often enjoyed during summer nights sitting under this very willow tree.
"Joey Henderson was a good kid," Chief Roper said, an odd statement in context of the conversation. Roper turned to me and looked directly into my eyes. His stare was concentrated and serious. I knew the police chief was telling me something.
"But he could be wild," Chief Roper continued, maintaining that serious look and I could not look away. "A couple of times I had to come over and help Marie get Joey off of his brother. One time it was so bad I had to put Joey in the jail for the night to get him calmed down."
I was full aware of Joey Henderson's sudden rages but I wondered why Millsboro police chief was mentioning this to me, at this time, as we both stood over a grave marker for a pet dog I was pretty sure never existed.
"I always feared that one day Joey would launch into a rage and hurt his older brother, maybe kill him," Roper broke the silence and his stare. The police chief turned his gaze once again to the clear blue sky.
"Sometimes tragedy just happens," the chief said. By now we were both regarding that blue sky. "Sometimes it's no one's fault, there was no ill-will," the chief continued. He addressed his comments to the blue sky but I knew he was talking to me. "Sometimes it's best to just let things be, let life go on and leave heart-breaking tragedy behind."
The police chief extended his hand again for a handshake. "It was good to see you, Janie," Roper said and turned to leave. Before I could gather my wits, Roper turned around from his departure to address me again.
"Too bad Donald Henderson's body was never found," the police chief said. "Too bad Marie doesn't have a grave to visit like this one for the pet dog. I hear Donald's military envoy was blown up in enemy territory. His body was never recovered."
This time Chief Roper gave me a wave and walked off. I remained for another minute or two under the willow tree, regarding the grave of Bumpkis and considered the possibilities.
I still don't know what happened to Donald and Joey Henderson. Judging by Chief Roper's unusual comments, I'd guess that somehow Joey went into a rage and killed his older brother. I don't know quite when this might have happened as Donald was supposed to have reported for military duty at some point in early 1991. For sure I remembered the last night Donald and I spent together before his send off date. Donald didn't want me to come to the airport with him, his mother and brother. "This evening is just for us," Donald told me. After a lingering kiss, Donald assured me he was going to work with the army, consider his extended enlistment options, and together we would decide how I would fit into it all.
Could Joey have went into a rage and somehow killed Donald before he had a chance to report for duty? If so, could this odd little pet grave really be the final resting place of Donald Henderson? How on earth could Marie Henderson have managed to execute such a deception?
What happened then to Joey Henderson? Without the guidance of his beloved brother, could Joey have wandered into that blackberry patch to be stung to death by bees? With his poor mother frantically trying to dial for help but unable to find the emergency number?
I returned home and told Richie I still didn't know anything more about Donald and it was no mind at any rate. "Time for me to move on," I told my hard-working husband. "It's odd that the army has no record of Donald but the army is notorious for screwing up their record-keeping," I continued explaining it all to my husband.
"But the police chief was at the Henderson house, the whole town was there. It must be okay, right?" I asked Richie who watched football and paid my musings no mind.
Whatever happened to Donald and Joey Henderson, sometimes things are no one's fault, there's no ill-will. Donald Henderson wanted to serve his country and cared for his autistic little brother with patience, sensitivity and love.
My former fiancé deserves an annual remembrance ceremony and I think it's great that so many in the town attend Marie Henderson's Memorial Day gala to praise her son.
I suspect many in the town of Millsboro consider the whole thing strange.
Sometimes tragedy just happens.
More Smashing Fiction HERE
The Grand Kitchen Remodel
...or bigger is not better; making space work
It was on a whim that I began redecorating my kitchen and it's on an equal whim that I decided to write about it here.
For I've lived her on Serendipity Shore for three years now and the time had come.
The house here on Serendipity Shore was but a few years old when it was purchased and while it was well-appointed in terms of a practical living layout, the place had little color and personality.
At the time this was fine with me as I'd just spent over fifteen years living in the most improbable Adams Family House with three stories and a hole in the floor for heat. That house had enough "personality" to give me my fill; so much so that I welcomed the pristine white walls and gray floors of Serendipity Shore with enthusiasm.
After a bit I wondered how long it would take me to go starkers if I had to regard a white wall one more day.
The kitchen is, as popular sentiment would have it, the heart of the home. The kitchen here in Serendipity Shore is not only the heart of the abode, it's my command center. If ever a small kitchen served so many functions it would be the kitchen of Serendipity Shore. For it's not only a place to cook, duh, it is also my home office and entertainment center. A small bar that separates my kitchen from the dining area is also the gathering spot for visitors. Thus one small area, approximately 12 ft. by 15 ft. became the brain, heart and brawn of Serendipity Shore.
Every single kitchen cabinet was some sort of blonde wood melamine type of affair. The floor is a sturdy linoleum with a gray subtle pattern. The walls, as the rest of the house, were white.
Okay, I thought last fall, the kitchen needs a boost. It would become my winter project, the house update that would keep my creative mind working as the winter winds howled.
Above is a montage of the updated kitchen and I'll try to explain the minor cosmetic changes that I made in relation to the pictures. First, some thoughts on Serendipity's kitchen.
The current rage in kitchens across the fruited plains is to change them into huge affairs often featuring large center islands, dual sinks, plenty of walkaround space, built-in grills and lots of other froufrou that often rival a restaurant in sophistication and culinary possibilities. My kitchen-womb in Serendipity Shore is not remotely in the same league.
Ah. But I had a huge kitchen in my former home and part of the reason I chose this house was its small but functional and well-planned kitchen.
It is The Wise I who does all the cooking duties here in Serendipity Shore as it was I who did the same in the Maryland home. I much prefer having a small but separate dining area than that huge thing in my old home. So I don't need a hip and happening kitchen designed to accommodate two cooks as is the current home decorating rage.
As a cook, of sorts, I like to have everything I need within an arm's reach. Cozy, as I consider my kitchen, suited me fine. Better, even though this kitchen is smallish, it still has an amazing amount of storage space with kitchen appliances that are modern and located for maximum efficiency when the cook works the cooking. I didn't design this kitchen in Serendipity Shore but if I had it would look exactly like the kitchen I have now.
Not that there wasn't required some "adjustments" to the space and this was done. No way would the microwave sit on the counter as it had in my old huge kitchen with no problem. I also always must have a TV, radio and CD player in my kitchen and this tinier space in Serendipity Shore required some thought and purchase to accommodate all of this.
In the picture above, taken post mini-remodel, the TV is sitting on the kitchen counter. That has now been changed. For hospitals all across the planet have televisions that are affixed to poles and placed up high for viewing from hospital beds. Did you know you can buy these poles? Indeed. So kitchen television is now on a platform, up in the air and freeing all that counter space. The platform revolves around with the flick of a wrist to be viewed from the dining room table. As for the microwave and other appliance storage, the purchase of a handy-dandy "cabinet" type of affair, with two shelves, a drawer and a large open space took care of all that. This small kitchen has a perfect "work triangle" area consisting of a stove, sink, dishwasher and appliance cabinet all within a four feet area from each other.
The refrigerator sits outside of the "womb" area of the kitchen but still only requiring a few steps to access. The area provided for a refrigerator was evidently created large for those who require an industrial style fridge which, ahem, we do not have. Not that my refrigerator isn't a perfectly fine size for me but there is to its side a good two feet of empty space and this is important. Next to the fridge is the pantry, a smallish affair but perfectly accessible during cooking forays and with plenty of room for what groceries we must store. Affixed under a cabinet is a radio/CD player with a remote control.
At the end of my kitchen womb is a small counter that is used for cooking, home office and additional seating for guests. There is a perfectly sized window over the sink where a window always should be that I may regard the entirety of the backyard and watch the birds frequenting the birdfeeders off of the deck. Said deck being right off of the dining area.
I have a complete home office in my kitchen, yes I do. One entire upper cabinet is devoted to all my work papers, the storage of personal mail, phone books, and paperwork for the businesses for which I consult.
Another lower cabinet is used just to store the computer CPU and all the electrical cords for same. A high shelf holds the telephone up off of the counter. The computer has a flat-screen monitor and a keyboard, both taking rather small footprints on the counter. All the modems, speakers and computer froufrou are out of the way in the bottom cabinet storing the CPU.
Even with these two cabinets absconded for home office use, there is still plenty of storage space in this small kitchen. With judicious use of space, I managed to also fit my scrapbook supply center, a handy home tool kit, and a gift wrapping center in this space.
We begin with the very top of the upper cabinets. If you look at the top two pictures, notice that there was an almost two feet of space with absolutely nothing in it. Wal-Mart sells colorful baskets, cheap, that can be placed in that space and filled with such as batteries, a lantern and fuel supply for non-electrical times, and lightbulbs. All things that would be hassled about in a closet somewhere. Stick them down in the colorful basket, place them in that unused space and boom, pretty and practical. Sure we have to climb on a step stool to get to them but I specifically store things in those baskets that aren't needed on a frequent basis.
It was that two empty feet beside the fridge that I used to best advantage. When I bought this house, the previous owners had a wheeled cart affair that fit perfectly into that space and so I purchased this cart from the owners. It is a wonderful thing in that it can be pulled out and wheeled around for kitchen chores then stored out of the way in that unused fridge space. After pushing the cart all the way in beside the fridge there is still room for the covered kitchen trashcan, another item the previous owners had and sold to me because they were right, those items fit perfectly and took them forever to find. Last week husband hung a coat hook affair that holds onions, potatoes from mesh sacks, up over the trashcan and out of the way of the rolling cart. There's a handy extra hook for my kitchen sweater which I had been draping over the various stools.
In the top two pictures, note that behind the pretty baskets on top of the kitchen counters there is a dark blue wall. Note that the froufrou over the sink and the sides of the cabinets around the sink are the same dark blue. Several other cabinet sides are painted dark blue and the inner squares of the pantry door, bottom left, are painted blue. This was my accent color. I only wanted a punch of color on those bland cabinets and it took me no time to paint a few strategic areas to bring the space alive.
The bottom picture shows the fridge and pantry doors. Pretty sliding drawer affairs were also purchased from Wal-Mart and sit atop the fridge, filled with scrapbook and painting supplies. A similar drawer type thing sits atop the corner cabinets and holds gift-wrapping supplies.
I still had plenty of room for my decorative bird plates and bird décor that is the theme for my kitchen. Look at that bottom pic. Note that the fridge keeps that two foot area from view. No one would ever know that a rolling cart, 13 gallon trashcan and hat rack are to the side and as useful as any two feet of space on the planet.
Paper towel dispensers are mounted on the sides of cabinets, hooks hold measuring cups and potholders. A coffee maker and my beloved mixer are allowed on the kitchen counter. No other appliance is allowed that precious space.
But the handy-dandy appliance holder addendum holds a toaster, a one-cup coffee maker for husband, the microwave, a drawer for Tupperware and a wide storage space for other this and that of the kitchen.
A few new rugs, a new window valance, hooks for the measuring cups...all add punch and practicality to a small space.
Husband can fit in the kitchen and from time to time he even enters within. I hold my breath until he leaves.
I am pleased with the results and feel that with a minimum of work I have "personalized" my kitchen. Further, with a mere stretch of an arm, I can find anything needed to cook, pay bills, replace batteries, empty trash, surf the net, make a phone call, look up a number, watch a show, enjoy a CD or listen to Rush Limbaugh.
Next winter...the living room. I think a deep purple for accent wall. A seating area by the front window...
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