The Disposal of Draperies

Draperies, for whatever reason, became a defining moment in my adult life. When I moved into my gray house sixteen years ago, beige draperies hung in every room which made the exterior gray appear exotic.

The draperies weighed me down. Their thick, pleatedness trapped dust. Their hooks never stayed attached even though the manufacturers were nice enough to give them each their own little cubby. Light barely penetrated even when the draperies were opened.

So I disposed of my draperies. Right after I washed them, in cold water, and they shrunk. I felt I now had an excuse to rid myself of them and be free from their oppressive nature. My friends feared for my safety without draperies to protect my privacy.

"Your neighbors will be able to see you walk around your house naked."

"The UPS driver will see you dancing in your living room."

"Passers by will know you never put your vacuum away."

When I told my mother i intended to eliminate draperies from my life, she said, "What next? You'll have your phone disconnected?"

I invited my family and friends to the bonfire of my draperies. We drank beer and shared drapery lore. Everyone had a story: small fires erupting from an overturned candle, holes in walls from a child using the drapes as a swing, astronomical dry cleaning bills.

As I gathered the ashes of my draperies a few days later, I came to a deeper understanding of myself. I couldn't live in a world of neutral colors. i needed bold prints off the color wheel chart to surround my life.

So I bought thin tapestries to match the house I painted purple. Orange splashes against a blue background. A red peace sign atop lavender swirls. A green faced sun. I hung them over bamboo poles and tied the ends in knots. I never untie the knots so my tapestries never close me in.

I have lots of privacy. My neighbors all have draperies.