The Living Room

Cary:
My first thought of the living room is a sea of blank porcelain faces staring at me every time I came home and left.  Their blank expressions looking back at me as if they were somehow mom's extra eyes checking in on us saying, "watch it buddy, I know what you do and where you sleep".  Second, the piano I learned how to play on.  I'm sure no one enjoyed hearing me play Cannon in D, which I incidentally learned in the key of C, over and over again.  Still, anything that's got music in it will always be a place I want to be.  I think when I would practice I would feel pressure to play my best because of the doll face audience.

Maren:
I vaguely remember using the fireplace only once. 

Dusting that room wasn't very fun.  First there was dusting the built-in bookshelves that contained lots of old books and trinkets (ceramic hand prints from several kids), as well as some dolls.  Then there were the tables and piano top that were also covered in dolls.  We had to dust under the tables, too.

 As a teen, I remember the couches being comfortable enough to take a worthy Sunday nap.  I believe in the summertime that room remained comfortably cool and bare skin didn't stick to the cloth couches like it would to the black vinyl couch in the family room.  The set of tan cushioned chairs that had curved backs were also a notable feature.

I practiced on the piano for the whole month that I took piano lessons with Sister Robinson.  Later on, I remember trying to sort of teach myself and occasionally taking out an old music book from the piano bench in a feeble attempt to redeem myself from my failure of following through with the music lessons.  I eventually got good enough at playing Enya's "No Holly For Miss Quinn" to satisfy myself until I went to college and took more lessons.

Home teachers and Dave from Jolson's were received in this room (it would smell like smoke after he left).  The formal portion of Christmas Eve was also held here as we read from Luke Chapter 2 and then opened gifts. Afterwards, we would eventually drift off to other parts of the house to assemble and play with toys.

The tile in the entryway was cold, but provided a nice flat surface for putting together puzzles.  I think one year (around kindergarten or first grade) I was excited to get two My Little Pony puzzles and I spent quite a lot of time assembling and taking them apart.  The red shag never would have allowed me to complete a puzzle.  Way too bumpy.

Wall hangings included the family portrait and as each of us graduated, our senior picture was added.  Some of Grandma Woolley's paintings were also on display. The framed white rope "art" that you can see in the entryway in the photo above of the Gruell family that was made by Aunt Lois.  Let's not forget Dad's wind-up clock that occasionally kept time.  Watching him turn the key was fun.  Also note the quilting frames stored behind the front door in the photo of me and my scowl at Christmas.

I'm surprised that I don't ever recall being creeped out by all the dolls or having nightmares with them coming to life or anything like that.  They were just a natural part of the landscape, I guess.

Mom:
We had Brother Hansom (who was a navigator for United Airlines) build the bookcases on each side of the fireplace.  They were nailed to the wall and never moved during the earthquakes. 

There was a window at the back that looked out on a small patio (we had put in), which was later filled in when the sewing room was built.  I was pregnant with Maren at the time this change took place. 

First we had white drapes (part of the package for new homes) Then I bought the lace wide valance fabric in Haarlem, Netherlands.  (This and the other Dutch curtains have hung in the Rosewood Court, Venus Street, and now the Blueberry Court houses.

 Since we didn't have much furniture (piano, 2 barrel shaped chairs) I used the living room as a quilting room until Maren was about 3 weeks old and we went shopping for furniture and bought a couch and loveseat and the end table and coffee table which we still have.  Also bought our first color TV.  The quilting room was moved to the garage for large quilts or the patio for small and large quilts in the spring or summer.

The Living Room became a doll museum during the years that I was making and dressing dolls.

Dad:
My thoughts of the living room are the "doll museum" by the fireplace with the  staring faces, my old clock that didn't run for years, until I finally got it fixed, and a fireplace with no mantle (only used once or twice). Besides Grandma Woolley's paintings and  Senior pictures, there was the "white rope" art that served as wall hangings. The "white rope" art was an art project made by aunt Lois when she was an art student at Boise State. The living room was  used mostly when home teachers or some "important visitors" came, as a quilting room and a place to spend Christmas. When we bought the couch and love seat, there were 'defects' with the couch, and after about the third couch that we had delivered with the same defects, we kept it (the third one) with the defect, and we got a reduction on the price. It was a good place to go for some peace and quiet as long as you were not facing the staring doll faces.

Corey:
I vaguely remember when I was little, when the only furniture in the living room were the tan velvet chairs and book cases. It was a sea of red shag that I can mostly remember from a single Christmas Eve where Curtis and I made little sleeping bags out of our "baby" blankets underneath the tree. We turned all the lights off except the colorful Christmas tree lights and dreamed about opening presents. 

When furniture was ultimately ordered to fill the room, namely the coffee table, end table, and strange floral couch and love seat, I lost count of how many times delivery was attempted.  Time and again a big truck would show up at the curb only to be turned back with their load because Mom would find significant damage to the couches.  I don't know why I felt bad for the delivery men, because I wouldn't want new broken furniture either. But to this day I find it hard to speak up if a delivery is damaged.

And really, there is no other way to define the living room except by the hundreds of dolls that made it their home over the years.  I remember when Curtis had his missionary farewell fireside, Kurt Lytle sitting wide-eyed in horror on the couch as all the doll eyes stared back at him. I'm not sure what kind of disassociative disorder needed to be invoked to stay in that room for more than a few minutes, much less to actually relax or nap in there, but we must have all developed one if for nothing else but survival. After I had my wisdom teeth pulled I remember sleeping away a few summer days in there.  Though I think by that time the numbers of porcelain minions had greatly decreased.

I also remember the fireplace, though ironically it was forgotten much of the time, buried under porcelain and velvet like every other piece of furniture. The brick hearth and black woven-wire spark curtain, and the iron wood holder and silver chrome socket to turn on the gas. I recall one winter where someone tried to start a fire with the flue closed (Curtis maybe? Or Dad?). I recall coming out of my room, stopping at the top of the stairs, and looking through thick smoke filling the living room to see a few small orange flames licking at a small log in the fire place. And then feeling a hoarse and scratchy throat for the rest of the day.