[ FEATURE: Mike Dixon ]

By Mike Dixon

Special to The Capital-Journal

What got me started on the family room was a story titled "Home is where the family room is" (At Home, Aug. 25). But what really solidified my ideas was the harvest-gold lamp base that I found in the back of the shed. A fine old friend from the 1970s, that earthenware accessory had been banished to an outbuilding during the mauve years.

As I pulled it from under the dreck and dross of the '80s, I was suddenly seized with nostalgia. What a pity, I thought, that such a fine fixture should be exiled for the sake of mere fashion. My jaw tightened as I visualized mauve and the others in its clan of hues.

But then it occurred to me that the worst of those times was now over. Today the statement is beige and all the browns and tans that go with it. Harvest-gold does not clash nearly so much with beige as it does with mauve. In fact, I mused, that old lamp might look good in our family room once again. My spouse might even be delighted to see it there, a reminder of the years that were so full of bright oranges and earth tones.

Making any change in the decor of our home is a two-stage operation. Phase one was to figure out how to sell her the idea. I spent considerable time researching her home improvement magazines, learning to talk the talk. Phase two was sneaking the lamp past her surveillance.

My wife was nowhere to be seen when I peeked out of the shed, and I made it through the outside door of the family room with the lamp without hearing a peep from her. When I had it prominently displayed at the end of the sofa, I crawled under the end table to plug it in. That's when I bumped my head --- hard.

I managed to shake off the blow and stagger upstairs, where I found my wife. She was sitting out on the deck, staring over the fence with her eyes focused on infinity. "Good morning," I said as my fingertips explored a lump that was rising through my pate.

"What's the matter with your head?" she asked.

"I cracked it on a table," I said.

"Marge Brown is having a redo of her sunroom," she said, without changing her gaze.

"That gives me an idea," I said. "If fact, that gives me an inspiration. Our family room is pretty plain right now. I think we should toss some motifs into the mix, use area rugs to define spaces, add cheeky colors to the browns and tans."

My wife's eyes focused on me.

"Are you all right?" she asked. "Those are some pretty extraordinary thoughts to come from your lips."

"Not at all," I said. "I think we could make some really great changes, accessorize with some contrasting colors, offset our conventional furniture with some lighter pieces; nothing too matchy, you know?"

"Wow, you've never spoken like this before," she said. "You're saying such beautiful things."

"Let's go have a look at that room now," I said. "We can talk redecorating while we're down there. Why, I've got a whole posse of new ideas."

As we entered the family room, my wife gave out a shriek.

"That lamp," she said, "I thought that went in a garage sale years ago."

"Oh yeah," I said, "I found it out in the shed. Whadayuh think?"

"I think it's hideous," she said, "a monstrosity from the '70s. I thought you wanted to add some lighter pieces, work with motifs?"

"Well, we still have the coffee table that we antiqued with white and avocado back in '72."

"Avocado gives me a migraine," she said.

"Are you sure? I think it's down in the basement somewhere. It would go great with harvest gold. Uh, what's a motif?"

" It's a pattern or design that is used in decorating. But I'd swear that you used the word 'motif' yourself just a minute ago."

"I did? Was that before I bumped my head, because I don't remember?"

"Say, that's right," she said with a curious expression on her face. "It all started when you showed up rubbing a lump on your head."

"Is that when I used that word 'motif'?"

"Yes. For once you made sense," she said.

Her eyes fell on the tool stand beside the fireplace, then waggled between the stand and the crown of my head.

"Oh look dear," she said, "there's a bug on the ceiling."

Mike Dixon lives in Topeka and is a Master Gardener with the Shawnee County Extension program (and, thus, his expertise is outside the house). He writes occasionally for At Home.

Copyright 2001
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