I’m afraid I’ve never had a Design Principle. Until very recently in my nearly seven-decades-long existence, I didn’t know such things existed, even if only as figments of the imagination, illusions of the mind.  Like Godzilla, or Toilet Gods—or Mind, for that matter.   

When our lower cabinets completely gave up their efforts at being drawers and collapsed, the kitchen designer we consulted took one look at our rooms and casually mentioned that our house broke every rule of interior design she knew.

Which makes sense, because I’ve had problems with principles and rules from second grade on, when Mrs. Senner flunked me on a test I had aced just because it was too messy. I have resented authority ever since. 

Beach rentals observe strict adherence to the Design Principle of continuously shouting YOU ARE AT THE BEACH. RELAX!

I did think the four clashing shades of blue in the short-term rental’s living room were a wee bit too much when you added in the muddy greige wainscoting against the bright white walls and stairway to the loft bedroom.  

The rug was the color of the year from 2020,  Pantone Classic Blue, described by a website as “evocative of the vast and infinite evening sky, encouraging us to look beyond the obvious to expand our thinking; challenging us to think more deeply, increase our perspective and open the flow of communication.”

And that expanded thinking, that open flow of communication, that increased perspective must be what inspired Michelangelo, poets and the short-term rental’s interior decorator.  Michelangelo saw his David in a marble slab,  a poet saw “worlds in a grain of sand,” and a local Ocean City artist saw a nonfunctional turtle-shaped candy dish in driftwood.

Every surface displayed at least one beachy objet d’art. A lamp festooned with hanging ceramic fish.  A decorative ball next to the turtle dish. Its twin by the TV (which did not get the network showing my favorite college football game). 

I have never, and don’t think will ever, understand decorating with balls made of not-usually-ball-like materials.  To me, it’s like displaying, say, owl pellets, or cat hairballs.

My own perspective had increased, my thinking had so expanded, that I couldn’t stop musing how much those decorative balls looked like tangled wads of what I thought snake excrement would look like, until I Googled it and boy! are there lots of unappealing illustrations thereof. 

May I suggest a new Design Principle: Do not decorate with things that evoke poop. 

But if the owner of our rental saw any evidence that we had dragged “worlds in a grain of sand” into the house, we would be fined $50.

I hadn’t read the house rules when I booked the place. (Yes, we’re back to rules.)  Fortunately, they were conveniently laminated right on the refrigerator door.  As open a flow of communication as I ever saw! 

If we broke any rules, and, well, we did (NO guests! NO shoes in the house!), I could plead mental confusion arising from repeatedly banging my head on the bedroom ceiling when I tried to make the bed without shifting it one centimeter (DO NOT move the furniture: $100 fine), or tried to dress, or got up in the middle of the night to creep down the stairs to the bathroom.  Remind me to never again rent a house with the bathroom on a separate floor.

Our host left us a review later: 

An absolute pleasure to host Leah. Followed the house rules and left the cottage in excelent [sic] condition.

I have learned a bit since second grade.