Happy Accidents

This house we bought? The previous owner was a hoarder. And a cat lady. And the kind of person who didn't bathe, but instead used the tub as a place to hang-dry her assortment of homemade muumuus, most of them cat-themed.

But that wasn't the only wonder in the main bathroom.

We saw the inside of the house four times prior to our closing date. During the first three viewings (two showings and an inspection), this oddity greeted us from the bathroom counter:

The fourth viewing was prompted when our realtor called to tell us the the seller had finally moved out, but that we needed to meet at the house to understand what that meant.

This is what that meant:

Our seller moved out and took almost nothing. Not her economy-size Vagisil. Not her furniture. Not her medication or her tax records. Rooms that had been empty on the first three viewings were suddenly filled with hoard. Cereal was left in bowls (with milk) on the counter. The refrigerator and two freezers were crammed full. So was a litter box.

She took a suitcase and her cats. And that Marisa Tomei picture.

That. Was. It.

Now, the fact that this was a mere, like, four seconds before closing and filming "House Hunters" and US HAVING TO LIVE HERE is all beside the point.

The point is, the Marisa Tomei picture was gone.

And I don't know how to fully explain this next part, especially since it sort of makes more sense to--I don't know--burn this house to the ground and put a bounty on hoarder cat lady's head. But instead, we decided to honor Ms. Tomei and the former owner's weirdness about her. To continue the inanity.

Back in 2000, Marisa Tomei and Vincent D'Onofrio starred in an Indie flick called "Happy Accidents." We liked it. That's all you need to know about it except that time-traveler Sam Deed (D'Onofrio) claims to be from "the Atlantic Coast of Iowa" (a little over 450 years in the future).

So we made a frame out of some reclaimed wood (the supports from the bottom of the box in which our new dishwasher arrived). I stretched some burlap over it. And then I got to painting something so obscure that any guest who uses this bathroom will either demand an explanation or not mention it and then never return. And Merritt will probably grow up with a really warped sense of U.S. geography.

This 27.5" x 29" beast now hangs above the toilet.

We kind of dig it.

It just feels right to commemorate the former owner, hoard-y though she may be, and to pay tribute to her peculiarity surrounding one Marisa Tomei.

Also, we immensely enjoy that this piece declares the love this family shares to extend beyond the confines of both geography and time.

Also-also, Iowa boasts a town called "Coon Rapids." I put a tiny heart on it. The size of that heart in no way indicates how much I actually heart that. Maybe Erin can explain its relevance in a future post.