Completely Unnecessary, Entirely Worth It

A Little Obsessed With… Glow

Alright, I admit it. I have no restraint at all; not even the tiniest shred. It simply is not in my DNA. I have publicly admitted here, in this journal that I WILL NOT buy anything else. I have plenty of lovely things, and in fact, my storage is feeling a little…overwhelmed by what I am asking it to hold.

But, when you see the photographs below, you will understand that there is no way at all I could have resisted my latest obsession.

It all started when I wrote some weeks ago about a plan for 12 months of gatherings, each with a theme to keep my creativity sparkling. Equinox Glow was this month’s suggested theme and you will read all about it next week in the March round-up. I have been rather pre-occupied with how to give our space the glow-up suggested by the theme.

The colour palette was navy, ivory and amber, and while I have plenty of navy and ivory items around the house, amber is a colour that I associate with beer bottles, and that was not the feeling I was going for.

In fact, I have lots of beer bottle memories, from homebrewing beer in my twenties, to my very early years living in Sydney. My great aunt and great grandmother lived together in a small house in Leichardt and I recall visiting them there on a few occasions. 

 I have fragments of memories of their place, the model of the London Tower Bridge, the outside loo with a tin can decorated like an octopus to hold spare toilet rolls, and the edges of the garden beds contained by upturned beer bottles that caught the light. I was fascinated by it all.

My great-grandma, my great-aunt and a very small me, in Leichardt, Sydney

I bought some glasses. Amber ones. (And yes, fine — some votive holders too, also amber, also completely unnecessary, also not remotely regretted.)

But, before you signal your disappointment with me, let me tell you about them. Well not them exactly although they are beautiful in their solid chunkiness, but how they hold the glow. How they cast everything in a warm, welcoming light.

How relaxed I felt sitting in front of them when I put them on the table. How the kids came to sit with me on the deck and lingered as we talked about things, big and small. 

How much pleasure I felt that I created a space where we wanted to be together, where there was no rush.

I didn't need more glasses. But we all needed what those glasses gave us: an oasis, a moment where the world and its noise were held at bay for a little while.

That kind of obsession, I think, is worth every cent.

(Especially at 30% off in the Mad March Sale.)