This post is MizMollye's fault! She got me thinking about our bedroom, and how I feel about it, and the answer to that is, I love it. It's a work in process, and only in the last couple of months have I added curtains, three styles of lace in two colors and three lengths, but the light shining through masks the different patterns, and you can't see how long they are because the bed hides the bottoms of even the shortest panels. (We have high windows, so very few worries about privacy.)
Our bedroom has, technically, two owners, my dear husband, and me, but you'll notice a rug on the bed. Somehow or another, our dog, Ceili, has decided it's also her room, at least, if we're in it! She will sit, mournful-eyed, on whichever side of the bed has the occupant currently deemed "Most Likely to Respond to My Entreaties", gazing steadily at either Bob or me. If that doesn't work to get her lifted up, she'll try the other side. She has strict instructions to, "Stay on your blankie!" once we've put her up on the bed, but given the slightest perceived excuse Ceili will edge her way up the bed until she has her chin on a knee, then a thigh, and finally is snuggled right between us, at which point we give in and move the rug instead.
(By the way, Ceili is Gaelic, and is the word for a musical gathering or party. You pronounce it, "KAY-lee".)
Bob and I spend a lot of time in this room.
Every weekday at five, the political talk shows come on. Well, actually, they're on most of the day, but our favorites come on then. We plant ourselves in front of the set, and see what we can learn--which politicians are saying and doing what, who's telling lies about which bills or actions, who voted for or against what legislation, which mega corporations are ripping us off this week, and who thinks it's perfectly fine for them to do it. I almost always have my laptop open, reading blogs, editing photos, or sometimes checking what they say on TV against what I can find on the internet.
During commercials, I trot to the kitchen and get dinner ready, which we usually eat in front of the set. We're good for maybe two political hours, and then maybe an hour of something else, and then my early bird husband turns in for the night. I stay until he's asleep, and then get up and do crafts, or housework, or computer, until I turn in at 10:30 or 11.
This is the view from my side of the bed--our dressers, and all the clutter we each accumulate to put on top. It's a dusting nightmare, which is why it so rarely gets done!
My clutter runs to angels and jewelry. There are angels all over the room, but the jewelry is pretty much confined to the dresser and wall.
This is the dear husband's brand of clutter:
The green book is a collection of Dick Francis short stories. I occasionally read one aloud for the two of us. I particularly like the card he keeps prominently displayed on the red and gold box. I gave it to him years ago:
The inside of the card reads, "I am."