Setting the Stage....

Yesterday was a busy day. It started fairly early and ended very late. In fact, I was sitting at my daughter's table, in another town, talking about worldly things, sipping Turkish coffee, at eleven o'clock at night. Well, others were drinking Turkish coffee; I was drinking cardamom tea.

Earlier in the day, I delivered some furniture to a long-time friend and fellow antiques dealer. I hadn't spoken to her for a few years when she called me a couple of weeks ago. She had been to Sylvia's shop and knew I sold some of my antiques. She wondered if I had anything else to sell.

And so, yesterday morning, I delivered the things she purchased from me. I was excited to see her new apartment. Well, she has been there for two years now, but I hadn't seen it before. It was lovely. Sort of.

The walls are all painted a lovely pale taupe, with white ceilings and beige carpeting. Her furniture is all white, with white-on-white accents. It is reminiscent of French country, or Shabby Chic. And it is quite feminine.

Absolutely nothing was out of place. Each tabletop tableau was perfectly positioned, strikingly beautiful, and recently dusted. The open floor plan allowed me to peek into the kitchen, with its decidedly country feel. Red and white transfer ware perched on an antique scale. An old carpenter's carryall filled with antique jars holding cooking staples.

Nearly a dozen white candle holders occupied the dining room table; fitted with white candles and adorned with crystal vines. I am sure they must be a dazzling sight at night, with the candles lit.

But, that's the problem: the candles are rarely lit. All the frou-frous on the dining room table are never in the way: no meals take place there. The dishes on the antique scale never grace the table, never are laden with a home-cooked meal, and never need to be washed.

There are no books, piled randomly on tables, or the floor, by a comfortable reading chair. In fact, the reason I sold her the two chairs was because they are so uncomfortable to sit in, although they are lovely to view.

As I stood up to leave, I felt that I should plump the pillow I leaned against and straighten the cushion on the sofa. I had disturbed the vignette, mussed up the setting, so to speak. And I realized: her apartment is a stage, set to present a play. Life is to be acted, thoughts scripted and lines memorized.

And so, she lives in her own little world. Beautifully appointed, almost to excess in most cases, and lives out her days in her own chosen surroundings. She has no car, little income, and two “new” French Provincial chairs....

Quite a contrast from last night: sitting around a simple, unadorned table, talking about whatever interested all of us, enjoying refreshments and good company.

Nothing in my daughter and son-in-law's condo is “off limits” or unusable. Chairs are comfortable and inviting. The walls are lined with bookshelves. The table is a place for eating meals and lingering over Turkish coffee.

And life is not scripted...