For me, much of comfort is happy old things displayed for my viewing pleasure. That said, here is my office wall, and many old friends still in view.
There is little remarkable about any kitchen of mine. Coffee pot, check. Toaster, check. Accessible cupboards, not really. However, for that I have the handy eight inch stool.
I was warned so often to be careful of the stool, that I will give it an explanation. Seventy six years ago my dad was walking home from the bus stop, and a packing crate board bounced from the back end of a truck. He picked it up, brought it home, and make that first stool for me, for my first Christmas.
It was 1943 and the only board he would have (no trip to Home Depot available). He designed the stool carefully. The legs not only are at an optimal angle, they are cantilevered into the top. My brother made hundreds of copies for children, grandchildren and friends of the family. The original is a footstool under my desk.
Jim, who was on and off the stool hundreds of times these last several days, and who weighs around two hundred pounds, I'd guess, pronounced it more than adequate.
Here is the same kitchen table with the same flower vase, and this week's flowers.
A piece of the living room, with the glass lamp from my BFF, Carol, and a watercolor by an artist from Michigan.
I think I needn't point out, every room is awash in light!
The studio is far more organized; ready for my next project to go onto the loom. And the loom will always be ready now:
Hilary Cooper-Kenny's prayer flags are on the wall over the loom.