
My wife has a dream that we will one day leave our rabbit-warren roomed downtown Edwardian semi and buy a mid-century modern house that we can reno into a minimalist dream abode.
On one hand, this makes me smile smugly, because none of us -- not our three children, not me and certainly not Carol -- has a minimalist bone in our bodies when it comes to possessions or clutter, and I suspect all the extra light of a modern home would make the dust bunnies and McDonalds toys everywhere just that much more visible.
On the other hand, I have made the mistake of mentioning this in the past, and the temperature in the room dropped so fast I'm sure icicles formed on the cupboards. So it also just makes me shut up and be supportive.
To that end. I got her a subscription to Dwell magazine this Christmas, which is one of those gifts that appear to be for them, but is really as much for you. After all, I too would love to live in a light-filled expanse overlooking a ravine.
So I nearly spit out the organic fair trade espresso I was sipping from my Alessi mug when I came across UnHappy Hipsters, based on photos from Dwell magazine. The photo I've grabbed above is captioned, "And one day, a ladder appeared. Julien climbed with guarded optimism; could this be the way out for which he'd been searching all these weeks? " which I think brilliantly sums up the barren experience that child must endure living there. I mean, our boys have more toys tangled up in the blankets of their unmade beds than he has in his whole playroom. And I won't mention the pink and purple chair.
Please, for the love of God, don't send this to my wife. I'm in enough trouble as it is.




