This old wooden chest has been in our bedroom for a couple of years now. It belonged to my dad’s mother. We store blankets and out of season things in it. Recently I put our sheepskin rug on it and then a pillow my mom made me out of a sweater of my dad’s from probably 30 years ago. She sewed little wooden buttons on it. We love it.
And so with that pillow or this richly patterned one that belonged to my Uncle Laurence, this has become a perfect little sitting place where I can read quietly with a cup of tea. Which happens maybe less than 5 minutes per week. But theoretically, this is a perfect place to sit quietly and read or journal or whatever.
(John and I bought the sheepskin rug before we got married. We had this vision of putting it on the ground between two comfy reading chairs and reading together with our toes buried in the rug. But we don’t have the two comfy reading chairs yet, and I’m also sort of waiting to put this rug on the ground until we live in a place where we take our shoes off inside and have cleaner floors. Anyway, until then this little space, even if I rarely get to sit there, makes me happy and is a small spot of beauty in our quirky old apartment.)