front porch progress

Remember how we used to have a pretty blue door? The same shade as the edge of the planter box and the tile? Well, we used to but the property management came and painted all our doors white again. They said the Navy said that colored doors are not historically accurate or appropriate for these houses (apparently sagging foundations and termites and crappy roofs and rampant mildew are just fine, however…but I digress). So we have a white door (talk about zero personality).
It has been my task to add some pop to the porch, some fizz to the front entrance. I moved some things around, potted up a slew of annuals and bulbs, and sponge-painted a wicker chair and our mailbox (pillows stil under construction). Maybe a better wreath, and also a curtain for inside the garage side-door. I’m hoping the red accents will make our front porch somewhat distinguishable. If every house looks alike, how will you know which one is yours? And how will your guests know? This has been aproblem (ask my girlfriend Deanna about walking into the wrong house). We’ve even had people walk into ours, assuming they were at a neighbor’s house.

Mailbox: sponge-painted, spattered, kinda looks like enamelware now. Sorta.

Looking toward the right side. The little statue-angel is a sculpture made by our longtime family friend Phil Glashoff, whose art is in galleries around the world. He’s whimsical and very talented, and very eco: uses old junk to make cool art. Admission to his annual art show in Suisun is one piece of rusted metal. If you go to his Web page, you’ll see more very cool stuff just like this.

Closeup of the daffys, because they make me happy.

OK, here’s the long view. Wouldn’t it be nicer with a BLUE DOOR? I’m just sayin. Note tree-hugging hippie peace flag there. Yeah, we’re commies.

This one is pure self-indulgence, just because he’s cute. My friendly peanut-eating pal who swoops down before I walk away and stuffs his (her) beak with 2-3 nuts. Greedy, pushy, loud, territorial, and very smart, this guy (gal) also makes me smile. He’s not “just a bird.” It’s a Western scrub jay. Warms my heart. Yes, I talk to birds.

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