Manorisms

Raise your hand if you think 12 years of Catholic school can't possibly influence your decorating decisions.

Case in point:  I'm not a big fan of black and white.  Too many nun memories.  I cannot look at plaid without breaking into a cold sweat.  Anything cable knit or starchy white makes me reach for the Xanax.

I do, however, enjoy altar wine.

Who knew that, years after graduating from Mater Dei High School, I would be channeling my inner Madonna when designing a kitchen pantry that contained 7 virgins and a replica of the Sistine Chapel ceiling.

Really, it's not as nuts as it sounds.

One day I had grown tired of those tacky, white plastic coated wire shelves in my tiny kitchen pantry.  It's bad enough to have to put up with tipsy cereal boxes, but when the Hershey bars started sliding through to the floor, I knew something drastic had to be done.  Ripping everything out and starting over seemed like a good beginning (the Genesis, if you will...), so that's just what I did.

Once I saw the property damage I had done by yanking out the shelving anchors, I knew some fancy faux painting would be needed to disguise yet another sincere yet bungled DIY project.  So I descended into my lab (i.e., the basement) to mix up some paint and glaze.  Not really having a vision and sans divine intervention, I started swishing and swiping color onto the walls and over the telltale spackle-y bumps.  What emerged was this lovely, color-washed palette of soft greens and browns that looked like a Monet painting.  Hmmm – maybe I should head that direction?  What's a few water lilies among the boxes of Cream of Wheat?  But that wasn't the way to go.  Florals wouldn't fulfill the pantry's true calling.

It was around this time that I bought a puzzle of the Sistene Chapel ceiling for my mother, who is a big fan of all things Christian and who is always up for a challenge.  We said a few prayers, had a Scotch, and attempted to put it together.  I don't think we finished it (the puzzle, that is – the Scotch bottle is long gone), but it left me inspired.   Miss Manors is often inspired after a visit from Mr. Glenlivet.

Back in the kitchen, I painted and trimmed wooden shelves (some say they resemble church pews) and installed them strategically in the space vacated by their wire ancestors.  The ceiling got a coat of soft sky blue, and the 4 corners of the ceiling were painted with tromp l'oeil arches.  I'm such a show-off.

Then I got my Michelangelo on by printing a Sistene Chapel ceiling replica onto several transparency sheets from my computer.  After shellacking the pieces onto the ceiling, I stepped back and admired my craftwork.  Not bad.  If you squinted, it almost had a 3-D effect, as if Adam's hand were reaching right out for you.  Or for the Chips Ahoy.  I suspect Adam had a sweet tooth.

Yet something was missing: it needed more reverance.  And apparently I needed lung disease, because what followed was a well-intentioned yet poorly executed session with a spray can full of crackling medium that deposited about a quart of infiltrates deep into my bronchial passages.  I avoided a trip to the ER by running outside every few minutes to hack and wheeze.   When my eyes finally stopped swelling shut, I saw the beautiful results: a golden glow emanating like a halo around the top of the walls, majestically crackling like fine porcelain.  Swear, you could smell the incense and hear an organ playing "Ave Maria" in the background.  Or perhaps it was the remainder of the paint fumes making their way into my brain.

As a final touch, I printed images of 7 angelic Renaissance women - whom I called virgins earlier in this story but really, I'm not judging - and shellacked them onto the crackled walls.  Can I get a Hallelujah here?

Most people don't notice all this artwork in the most unlikeliest of places.  It's only when they reach in for the saltines and Cheeze Whiz that I point them heavenwards to admire the Old Masters' works.  Reactions vary, from mild amusement to full-on incredulousness.   And I'm sure more than a few have said a silent prayer for my return to sanity.  Amen.

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