I neglected to tell y'all that we went with Bobby and Gilda to an auction of postmodern 1950s and 1960s artsy stuff in Sarasota a few weeks ago.
We found a lot of things to bid on, like a four-foot tall papier mache cat with a bowtie and a goofy grin; a collection of 1960s sepia proof sheets of more than 200 nude sketches suitable for framing and papering a room with, which offended Bobby's West Virginia sensibilities but fascinated Gilda, Bill, and me; a folk-art alligator table; and a giant, hanging Swatch watch--all just the sort of stuff you'd want for your Florida house. All of it sold for far too much money. It's alarming to recall that we would have spent $225 for those nude sketches, if someone else hadn't gotten caught up in the bidding frenzy and spent $230.
Instead of all that, we came home with what can best be described as a PILLAR. It's a 6-foot-tall, greenish stone column carved like a palm tree trunk. I don't know. It just caught my eye. No one else seemed to badly want the thing, so we got it for $35--the next-to-cheapest item at the entire sale. Somehow we wrestled it into the back of Bobby and Gilda's Navigator, got it home, and found a place to erect it in our entryway.
Now, a bare pillar standing in front of your house looks just too, um, phallic and silly, so I was challenged to figure out exactly what to do with it. Bobby rather unhelpfully suggested that we put a revolving, solar-powered disco ball atop it. So it stood there naked for a week or two.
Then, one night when we were over at Bobby and Gilda's for hillbilly food, Gilda presented me with a small potted morning glory. It just fit in the top of the pillar, where it's making itself at home, curling tendrils all over the place.
Next, Gilda suggested stringing little white lights around the pillar, which Bill did just the other day.
Somehow, it all works. Between the festooned phallic symbol and our solar lanterns in the ground, the front of the house looks delightful, and the pillar looks like it was supposed to be here all the time.