Minimalism Bleh

My new digs in this wonderful building with marble entrances and elevators and underground parking and television surveillance, is not all joy. First of all, be it flashy classy, I needed to get rid of  my hodge podge of comfortable furniture and buy the new smooth, shiny sort. It was a choice of either comfy Shabby Chic with its rosy pillows or minimalism's metal and glass. I chose the latter because I thought it would save a lot of laundering and dusting time, and now I am ensconced in black leather and brushed steel, quartz and white walls, high ceilings and equally high baseboards. I have a Great Room. That means a great big room with no walls in between.  If you don't get a caterer in  to serve, everyone is going to see what a messy cook you are. No more hiding the spaghetti sauce pot or the salad spinner. It's all out there in public view. The dinner guests can see every culinary secret of yours. The brushed steely parts of the kitchen end, are all very well appearance-wise, but each and every finger print establishes itself clearly. Who needs a gym when you spend so much time polishing. The black leather couch shows every stray crumb, the quartz needs to be guarded like a newborn and the baseboards have proved to be very good places for dust to convene. Sitting down for a relaxing read, I am inclined to slide off the slippery couch, but it doesn't matter because one does not have lamps for actual reading any more. What used to be one for over the left shoulder, shining benevolently on the page of a book, is now something high over head in a tube whose brothers and sisters embellish every second metre up there. It is called ambient lighting and I wish it would amble out of here. I liked my old forties bridge lamp that made reading comfortable. No one has lamps any more unless they are Art. Hunks of crumpled paper or creations of coloured plastic and feathers look good in magazines. Period. And then there is the shiny new kitchen quartz in its glistening shade of light grey. With it, came instructions. My aunt's old Wedgewood china is easier care. All the must-nots of the quartz, drove me to cover it with good old Carrera marble boards that take anything thrown their way. You can hardly see the quartz now but as least it's safe. Then, there is the matte finish laminate flooring. Easy care means all it needs is wiping with water but don't dast allow something on it called "standing water". I make sure that all the water I put on it, reclines. Step into the bathroom festooned with marble, lots of it. The shower is a marvelous thing big enough for The Yankees, with a choice of streaming water when you turn on the taps that look like Rubik's Cube. The shower came with warnings, too. After a shower, you must wipe down the marble walls but first they need to be showered themselves. The benefit of it all, is that when you step out of the shower, you are dry for all the labour it took. But it looks lovely. And don't forget that the floor needs a rug because if marble is wet, it simulates a skating rink. I have bruises to show for it. I suspect that after a few years of rigorous attention to the minimalism movement life style, I may adjust. But in this new and fine space, I have the good fortune to own a small room. It is messy, cosy and there are no instructions that come with it. I do as I please there. Here is my scratched-up oak desk, the rickety  filing cabinet, my cranky computer and on the disorganized shelves, a lot of dear old well-thumbed books that are my best friends. I roll around in my old H Krug office chair and all's right with the world - the one inside my closed den door.