My Garden

Nellie Stagg

        Crème Fraiche, Egg Shell White, Powder Sand, Ivory Tusk, Adobe White, and Creamed Silk. According to Benjamin Moore, these are the acceptable bedroom door colors. I decided a long time ago that “acceptable” wasn’t for me. I knew that I didn’t want another boring white door, then one day when I was reading a Nickelodeon Magazine I saw a rip-out sign, meant for doors, that said, “This is an answer free zone.” I immediately cut it out and taped in center of my bedroom door.

From then on my collage spread like wildfire. With every new image or quote my creation spread farther and farther. The final result was something I never could have dreamed of. 

            I have never been very good at expressing what I’m thinking through words. Those who know me can assure you that I am outspoken, but the ideas in my head just don’t translate exactly how I want them to. I often have to plan what I’m going to say ahead of time for events such as first meeting someone, or breaking off a relationship. But when I’m flipping through a magazine and a certain image jumps out at me as something that internally I relate to, such as an anti-Bush cartoon, all I have to do is tape it on my door, so people can see my ideas.

It may sound corny, but a picture is worth a thousand words. For example, there’s this giant bright orange sticker that says, “ROCKET DOG” in the center of my door. I had this unbelievably comfortable pair of brown sandals, from that company, that I literally wore everyday for two consecutive summers. To me, the sticker shows that if I could, I would be barefoot 24/7, and it reminds me of fun times at Compo Beach.

            My door is my diary on a wall. Rather than writing entries in a locked notebook, I put them somewhere where if anybody wants to take the time to read them they can. Some people will just pass by them, some may acknowledge it as “cool,” but to those select few who decide to stand in front of it to dissect it piece by piece, picture by picture, well, they can learn more about me than any conversation we could ever have with me. My mind is a collection of random bits and pieces squished into a little ball. I have actually spent many afternoons thinking about how if I were to ever have brain surgery preformed, the second the neurosurgeon cracked my skull open things would shoot out all over the place. In fact there should be a sticker on my head reading contents under pressure, like the one on my door.

            I normally add images to the door when extremely happy, anxious, or depressed. The instance of blissful posting that I can remember best was in 7th grade; my Aunt and my Grandma took my out of school to go shopping in Chinatown. We visited my favorite lunch spot, the Cinema Café, and then they took me to a little dessert bakery called Frederic. Its name comes from the head pastry chef, Fredric, he’s a middle aged French man, and the chef hat on his head might be the only thing on the planet larger than his handle bar mustache. A wisp of white hair rests atop his Buddy Holly glasses, and if his outstanding looks weren’t enough, his melt in your mouth brownies will make you his fan. After spending an hour drinking tea and eating sweets at Frederic, my Grandma, my aunt, and I called it a day. Before we left I grabbed an extra one of the purple paper menus off a table, and the minute I got home I cut out the photo of Fredric’s head off the menu and taped it on my door. Now, whenever I’m passing my room, I see Frederic’s unique face and smile.

            When I completed my door, about a year ago, I was very satisfied with my results. I soon realized that I had filled my notebook, but in my case it is very difficult to convince my mother to buy me a new one. Now I have to be very selective about what few new additions I can post.

My most recent was a petite, azul, Chiquita banana sticker. This may sound strange, but lately I have become a little obsessed with bananas. I eat about three a day; I have no problem with green ones, but I refuse to eat brown ones and if necessary I will, with my thumb, scoop out a bruised portion and throw it out the window. I’ve even developed a system to eating them, firstly, using your right thumbnail (for it is normally sharper than the left) you break the top off and peel. Next, you gently bite off a portion approximately two inches.  Then, using your teeth in alliance with the tongue, separate the thirds of the banana. Finally, eat these portions individually. Repeat until finished.  Since this fruit has now become a major contributor to my life I found it fitting to provide it with a spot on my door. With pride, I placed the sticker under Queen Latifa’s salute.

It’s fun to every once in a while just stand outside my door and study my work. It brings back fond memories of simpler times. I like being reminded about how much I have grown and what makes me the person I am today. Although recently I noted that while the center is filled with many pictures of puppies, it shifts to many pictures of boys on the outside. But to me it will always be an answer free zone.