House Beautiful Table Lamps

Monday, September 12th, 2011 | Author:
The Old Post Road: Table Lamps

Include A Southwest Table Runner For Wonderful Western Style Home Decor

A Southwest table runner is an easy way to bring out that one-of-a-kind western, rustic or Native American feel in your home decor. Because of their growing popularity, more and more home decorators are choosing to buy their southwest table runner online. Used as western accents and also southwestern accessories, in breakfast nooks or when decorating a cabin or log home with a rustic or western theme, southwestern table runners give your home character and a beautiful authentic Native American look. When purchasing American Indian style table runners, you will find a large selection making it easy to find a western table runner and you will no doubt want to put a few of the most popular and sought-after runners or table rugs in your home decor. These table runners have a long history that has evolved over time and can truly be appreciated as great works of art.

Some of the most popular southwestern and western table runners, in Indian patterns, each type of runner uses a combination of unique colors and characters, symbolizing spirituality or depictions of historical events and a wide variety of colors and designs.

Not only is a southwest table runner known for its incredible beauty, but the skill and hard work involved in making Native table runners is also very impressive. The makers of hand woven table runners must be very skilled and start the runner making process by kneeling in front of a vertical wooden-framed loom. The designs are then put into place by using a shuttle to weave different colored yarn together, making geometric characters and designs. Originally, Navajo rugs as well as those of some other Southwest Indian tribes were woven of hand spun cotton thread. However, once the wool of domestic sheep was introduced to the region by the Spanish settlers, the people primarily used wool to weave their colorful rugs, table runners and other traditional weaving.

Today, many of the modern southwest table runners are made in areas where Spanish and Native American histories joined together to create beautiful designs. Southwestern table runners, with their warm earth tone colors and unique southwestern designs make them the standard for rustic home decorating. If you are searching for great southwestern decor, you will probably purchase from American companies or directly from Native American weavers. Buying western table runners from Navajo or other American Indian tribes not only allows you the satisfaction of owning a southwest table runner that is made by Native Americans but also helps to support the Native American heritage of rug weaving, and the people who themselves sell their rugs, runners, and Native American art.

The style of table runner you choose will greatly depend on what you like and what kind of decorating you have in mind. You will find that a southwest table runner is an excellent southwestern accent when combined with rustic or western home decor. Whether you are decorating one room in your house or decorating an entire house using a rustic theme, you will come across many designs and colors available to choose from. Among these options you will find everything from Zapotec runners with no two alike, to southwest table runners with western style. Designers love hand woven wool table runners because of the rich colors and textures. Whatever your decorating style and whatever your home decor needs, you will definitely enjoy the richness of color and warmth brought to life in your home by decorating with a southwest table runner.

About the author: Craig Chambers is the director of Mission Del Rey and author offering free information online about how to use a southwest table runner in unique western style. For more information visit http://www.missiondelrey.com

Source: http://www.isnare.com/?aid=221684&ca=Home+Management

Frequently Asked Questions

  1. QUESTION:
    How to describe my bedroom in French?
    Salut!!

    Could you pleas translate this into French (No using translator!) Thank You

    In my house my bedroom is next to my parents room and opposite my littler sisters, In my bedroom I have a bed which is small but comfortable I also have a big wardrobe and some drawers. I have a desk and I have a television and DVD player. Next to my desk I a beautiful old fireplace. Next to my wardrobe I have my new and big piano which I play often. The colour of my walls are white which I don’t like, and my floor is wooden floor boards but I also have a very old African carpet under and next to my bed. My curtains are brown and my door is also brown. Soon I’m going to paint my room. I have around my room on my walls paintings which a I painted myself. I love my paintings, then on top of my fire place and on my shelves, which is above my desk, I have my DVD’s and Books. I spend a lot of time in my bedroom, I like to play my piano and saxophone, read, write and watch things on my computer. When I go to bed I listen to music until I go to sleep at nine o’ clock. I also I have two purple table lamps, one next to my bed and one next to my piano. Underneath my piano I have a microwave, which is very strange! I use it to cook food so I don’t have to go downstairs.

    THANK YOU!

    • ANSWER:
      Ma chambre est à côté de celle de mes parents et en face de celle de mes petites sœurs. Dans ma chambre, j’ai un lit petit mais confortable. J’ai aussi une grande armoire et quelques tiroirs. J’ai un bureau et une télévision avec un lecteur DVD. A côté de mon bureau, il y a un vieil âtre magnifique. A côté de mon armoire, il y a mon nouveau grand piano avec lequel je joue souvent. Les murs de ma chambre sont blancs, même si je n’aime pas trop ça, et au sol il y a du parquet mais j’ai aussi un vieux tapis africain qui occupe l’espace au bord et sous mon lit. Mes rideaux sont marrons tout comme ma porte.
      Je vais bientôt peindre ma chambre. Sur tous les murs j’ai accroché des peintures que j’ai réalisées moi-même. J’adore mes peintures, et j’ai rangé mes DVD et mes livres au dessus de l’âtre et sur mes étagères qui sont au dessus de mon bureau.
      Je passe beaucoup de temps dans ma chambre. J’aime jouer du piano et du saxophone, lire, écrire et regarder des trucs sur mon ordinateur. Quand je vais dans mon lit, j’écoute de la musique jusqu’à ce que je me couche à 21 heures. J’ai aussi deux lampes de chevet violettes, une près de mon lit et l’autre à côté de mon piano. En dessous de mon piano, j’ai un micro-ondes, qui est très bizarre. Je l’utilise pour cuisiner, comme ça, je n’ai pas besoin de descendre (dans la cuisine).

  2. QUESTION:
    i’m looking for a name to this lamp/lighting fixture?
    i work in a really nice Assisted Living, Health and Rehab, and General Apartment Housing, that is provided for senior citizens or retired people who cant keep up their usual lifestyle at home. Love the people there.

    So yesterday i was going past a resident room, as they freely keep their doors open sometimes, and i saw this beautiful lamp.
    i didnt have time to stop and chat with the nice lady to get more info, but i have this mental picture that i hope you can help me figure out.

    this light was small enough to fit on a nice end table. it reminds me of a bird cage but not as many bars, im thinking there was at least 4 to 5 wooden “bars”. this thing looked like it was made out of solid wood (from a very nice tree :-P) I’d say about 2 feet if not a lil more high. and inside the lights were hanging, like spiders do. no glass panels, so you can touch the lights.

    here’s a drawing i made to maybe help with a visual since i didnt take a picture with my phone! >_< its pretty bad but i think it might help http://i3.photobucket.com/albums/y95/Baby_260/151.jpg?t=1245913921 i want one of these lamps so bad! i think it may be an antique...but then i havent been on this earth that long! only 21... so ANYTHING will help, thank you so much!

    • ANSWER:
      There is a good chance that it was hand made by a woodworker. This is not of any usual style or design that I have seen over the number of years I have been in this business. I have seen some very interesting home made ones though.

  3. QUESTION:
    is my short story good?
    straight down in large sticky lumps, they clung to each
    other and sank quickly and they weren’t white, but grey.
    The whole world was as heavy as lead.
    Mummy carried in the suitcases and stamped her feet
    on the doormat and talked the whole time because she
    thought the whole thing was such fun and that everything was different.
    But I said nothing because I didn’t like this strange
    house. I stood in the window and watched the snow
    falling, and it was all wrong. It wasn’t the same as in
    town. There it blows black and white over the roof or
    falls gently as if from heaven, and forms beautiful arches
    over the sitting-room window. The landscape looked
    dangerous too. It was bare and open and swallowed up
    the snow, and the trees stood in black rows that ended
    in nothing. At the edge of the world there was a narrow
    fringe of forest. Everything was wrong. It should be
    winter in town and summer in the country. Everything
    was topsy-turvy.
    The house was big and empty, and there were too
    many rooms. Everything was very clean and you could
    never hear your own steps as you walked because the
    carpets were so big and they were as soft as fur.
    If you stood in the furthest room, you could see
    through all the other rooms and it made you feel sad; it
    was like a train ready to leave with its lights shining over
    the platform. The last room was dark like the inside of
    a tunnel except for a faint glow in the gold frames and
    the mirror which was hung too high on the wall. All the
    lamps were soft and misty and made a very tiny circle of
    light. And when you ran you made no noise.
    It was just the same outside. Soft and vague, and the
    snow went on falling and falling.
    I asked why we were living in this strange house but
    got no proper answer. The person who cooked the food
    was hardly ever to be seen and didn’t talk. She padded
    in without one noticing her and then out again. The
    door swung to without a sound and rocked backwards
    and forwards for a long time before it was still. I showed
    that I didn’t like this house by keeping quiet. I didn’t
    say a word.

    In the afternoon the snow was even greyer and fell
    in flocks and stuck to the window-panes and then
    slid down and new flocks appeared out of the twilight
    and replaced them. They were like grey hands with a
    hundred fingers. I tried to watch one all the way as it
    fell, it spread out and fell, faster and faster. I stared at the
    next one and the next one and in the end my eyes began
    to hurt and I got scared.
    It was hot everywhere and there was enough room
    for crowds of people but there were only two of us.
    I said nothing.
    Mummy was happy and rushed all over the place
    saying: “what peace and quiet! Isn’t it lovely and warm!”
    And so she sat down at a big shiny table and began to
    draw. She took the lace tablecloth off and spread out all
    her illustrations and opened the bottle of Indian ink.
    Then I went upstairs. The stairs creaked and groaned
    and made lots of noises that stairs make when a family
    has gone up and down them for ages. That’s good. Stairs
    should do that sort of thing. one knows exactly which
    step squeaks and which one doesn’t and where one has
    to tread if one doesn’t want to make oneself heard. It
    was just that this staircase wasn’t our staircase. Quite
    a different family had used it. Therefore I thought this
    staircase was creepy.
    Upstairs all the soft lamps were on in the same way
    and all the rooms were warm and tidy and all the doors
    were standing open. only one door was closed. Inside,
    it was cold and dark. It was the box room. The other
    family’s belongings were lying there in packing-cases and

    trunks and there were mothproof bags hanging in long
    rows with a little snow on top of them.
    now I could hear the snow. It was falling all the time,
    whispering and rustling to itself and in one corner it had
    crept onto the floor.
    The other family was everywhere in there, so I shut
    the door and went down again and said I wanted to go
    to bed. Actually I didn’t want to go to bed at all, but I
    thought it would be best. Then I wouldn’t have to say
    anything. The bed was as wide and desolate as the landscape. outside. The eiderdown was like a hand, too. You
    sank and sank right to the bottom of the earth under a
    big soft hand. nothing was like it was at home, or like
    anywhere else.
    In the morning it was still snowing in just the same
    way. Mummy had already got started with her work
    and was very cheerful. She didn’t have to light fires or
    get meals ready and didn’t have to be worried about
    anybody. I said nothing.
    I went to the furthest room and watched the snow. I
    had a great responsibility and had to see what the snow
    was doing. It had risen since yesterday. A thousand tons
    of wet snow had slithered down the win

    • ANSWER:
      Nobody is answering… Have a smile from an ignorant but friendly user

  4. QUESTION:
    New Poem? What do you all think?
    its called Rich

    Download the PDF file from a
    cheap google search on your apple laptop,
    pull out the printer, click the tiny red button
    print print print

    out comes, from this mundane task, little thought and little soul containing,
    the genius that touches your being, those whom you look up to,
    making you see
    and imprinting themselves on
    the red of your blood.
    Out pours that which you long to be.

    They came from nothing
    built themselves purely on talent and desire.

    Those maybe who write lyrics that flow and dance, reflected in the fire of the core,
    inside the pulse of the earth for you.
    Or books that will never leave the endless catalog of your mind
    Forever nagging and showing themselves in everything you do.
    You hang them, carefully and quickly, above your desk
    hoping they might rub off on you as you work.
    Inspire you, if you don’t mind being cliché.

    Their genius to transfer through two dimensional images on paper
    to the very real caverns of your mind and fingertips.

    But now you decide to begin
    sit, open up your notebook or laptop
    very comfortable, very privaleged in your lovely house and tray of snacks at your table and a can of soda.
    And look up, up
    see their suffering and power.
    They sat in decrepit bars with cheap vodka and worn out clothing.
    What were they born with but talent?

    There they stand, judging you with mysterious and beautiful eyes
    begging you to reach them, create something as fantastic as they
    but somehow, not allowing you to.
    Why should you be allowed?
    You are fat, rich, dull and sleepy to them.
    Don’t be greedy, they begin to shriek in your head.

    The height at which you put them somehow starts,
    first quietly,
    then nagging at you,
    then suddenly ravaging your brain,
    becoming a metaphor for your stance in life.

    And who are you, to find yourself sitting beneath them, trying to create
    trying to grow within the parameters
    of what they have already done and presented to the world?

    You are very little all of the sudden, beneath the photos
    your imprint shrinks, dries and shrivels
    in the harsh light of your overhead lamp.

    And you close the laptop
    the notebook
    break the pencil tip.

    And sit, looking down, down.

    • ANSWER:
      Not sure I understand the purpose.

  5. QUESTION:
    Plz comment on my poem..?
    Mask man#
    In the middle of the night
    He entered the lonely house through window pane
    I’m the thief i’m gonna loot
    He said to himself,and checked the gun again.
    No one’s gonna see him he thought
    As he was wearing a full face mask.
    His green eyes were the only flashing thing
    He smiled coz stealing is not a big task.

    The mask man thinks he is the bad boy
    Nothing’s gonna stop him this night
    Making his move without the light.

    Then he entered a room gently pushing the door
    And saw the big lamp in the corner still turned red
    Mask man took a glimpse of the room
    And found someone on the bed.
    He took a step back then he hit the table
    Glass doll fell and shattered he had to pay the price.
    It made the girl to wake up
    She stood in silence as she saw those green eyes.

    The mask man doubts was he the bad boy
    Is she gonna stop him in this night
    As he moves towards from dark to light.

    Mask man saw the girl and she was beautiful
    He looked her again
    Then he ran through the window pane.

    Mask man found himself in the morning
    Walking down the city street.
    Mask was off his head but girl in his mind
    Never seen a girl such a beauty n sweet.
    Then he saw a girl walking down to him.
    It was the same girl he saw before a while.
    The girl saw those green eyes
    She came close to him with a smile.

    • ANSWER:
      I found it to be more of a short story than a poem, I guess if you wanted to be technical about it one could call this a pros but just barely.
      personally I found this poem more creepy than anything else, if that was what you where going for than congrats.

  6. QUESTION:
    what is your interpretation about this poem?
    The Summer of Black Widows
    Sherman Alexie

    The spiders appeared suddenly
    after that summer rainstorm.

    Some people still insist the spiders fell with the rain
    while others believe the spiders grew from the damp soil like weeds with eight thin roots.

    The elders knew the spiders
    carried stories in their stomachs.

    We tucked our pants into our boots when we walked through fields of fallow stories.
    An Indian girl opened the closet door and a story fell into her hair.
    We lived in the shadow of a story trapped in the ceiling lamp.
    The husk of a story museumed on the windowsill.
    Before sleep, we shook our blankets and stories fell to the floor.
    A story floated in a glass of water left on the kitchen table.
    We opened doors slowly and listened for stories.
    The stories rose on hind legs and offered their red bellies to the most beautiful Indians.
    Stories in our cereal boxes.
    Stories in our firewood.
    Stories in the pockets of our coats.
    We captured stories and offered them to the ants, who carried the stories back to their queen.
    A dozen stories per acre.
    We poisoned the stories and gathered their remains with broom and pan.

    The spiders disappeared suddenly
    after that summer lightning storm.

    Some people still insist the spiders were burned to ash
    while others believe the spiders climbed the lightning bolts and became a new constellation.

    The elders knew the spiders
    had left behind bundles of stories.

    Up in the corners of our old houses
    we still find those small, white bundles
    and nothing, neither fire
    nor water, neither rock nor wind,
    can bring them down.

    my question is…
    what spider represents?
    what function to the spiders serve in the community?
    how is this poem a narrative poem?
    can you help me please…thanks a lot!

    • ANSWER:

  7. QUESTION:
    Plz comment on my poem..?
    Mask man#
    In the middle of the night
    He entered the lonely house through window pane
    I’m the thief i’m gonna loot
    He said to himself,and checked the gun again.
    No one’s gonna see him he thought
    As he was wearing a full face mask.
    His green eyes were the only flashing thing
    He smiled coz stealing is not a big task.

    The mask man thinks he is the bad boy
    Nothing’s gonna stop him this night
    Making his move without the light.

    Then he entered a room gently pushing the door
    And saw the big lamp in the corner still turned red
    Mask man took a glimpse of the room
    And found someone on the bed.
    He took a step back then he hit the table
    Glass doll fell and shattered he had to pay the price.
    It made the girl to wake up
    She stood in silence as she saw those green eyes.

    The mask man doubts was he the bad boy
    Is she gonna stop him in this night
    As he moves towards from dark to light.

    Mask man saw the girl and she was beautiful
    He looked her again
    Then he ran through the window pane.

    Mask man found himself in the morning
    Walking down the city street.
    Mask was off his head but girl in his mind
    Never seen a girl such a beauty n sweet.
    Then he saw a girl walking down to him.
    It was the same girl he saw before a while.
    The girl saw those green eyes
    She came close to him with a smile.

    • ANSWER:
      Mask Man; The idea of giving both the man and the girl green eyes is brilliant!
      If you were to edit the poem at all, you could add choruses after all the longer verses.
      One idea is to accentuate the green eyes, perhaps so:-

      Green was the colour of his mask too
      And the girls green nightgown was almost see through.

      Green were her eyes, and sparkled too.
      No fear was there, only love so true.

      Yes, I give it 9 out of 10!

  8. QUESTION:
    Plz comment on my poem..?
    Mask man#
    In the middle of the night
    He entered the lonely house through window pane
    I’m the thief i’m gonna loot
    He said to himself,and checked the gun again.
    No one’s gonna see him he thought
    As he was wearing a full face mask.
    His green eyes were the only flashing thing
    He smiled coz stealing is not a big task.

    The mask man thinks he is the bad boy
    Nothing’s gonna stop him this night
    Making his move without the light.

    Then he entered a room gently pushing the door
    And saw the big lamp in the corner still turned red
    Mask man took a glimpse of the room
    And found someone on the bed.
    He took a step back then he hit the table
    Glass doll fell and shattered he had to pay the price.
    It made the girl to wake up
    She stood in silence as she saw those green eyes.

    The mask man doubts was he the bad boy
    Is she gonna stop him in this night
    As he moves towards from dark to light.

    Mask man saw the girl and she was beautiful
    He looked her again
    Then he ran through the window pane.

    Mask man found himself in the morning
    Walking down the city street.
    Mask was off his head but girl in his mind
    Never seen a girl such a beauty n sweet.
    Then he saw a girl walking down to him.
    It was the same girl he saw before a while.
    The girl saw those green eyes
    She came close to him with a smile

    • ANSWER:
      I was totally engaged from the first line. The ending is a real surprise and gave me quite a chill. You have a good narrative knack, and not enough people, imo, write narrative poetry.

  9. QUESTION:
    Plz comment on my poem..?
    Mask man#
    In the middle of the night
    He entered the lonely house through window pane
    I’m the thief i’m gonna loot
    He said to himself,and checkd the gun again.
    No one’s gonna see him he thought
    As he was wearing a full face mask.
    His green eyes were the only flashing thing
    He smiled coz stealing is not a big task.

    The mask man thinks he is the bad boy
    Nothing’s gonna stop him this night
    Making his move without the light.

    Then he entered a room gently pushing the door
    And saw the big lamp in the corner still turned red
    Mask man took a glimpse of the room
    And found someone on the bed.
    He took a step back then he hit the table
    Glass doll fell and shattered he had to pay the price.
    It made the girl to wake up
    She stood in silence as she saw those green eyes.

    The mask man doubts was he the bad boy
    Is she gonna stop him in this night
    As he moves towards from dark to light.

    Mask man saw the gir and she was beautiful
    He looked her again
    Then he ran through the window pane.

    Mask man found himself in the morning
    Walking down the city street.
    Mask was off his head but girl in his mind
    Never seen a girl such a beauty n sweet.
    Then he saw a girl walking down to him.
    It was the same girl he saw before a while.
    The girl saw those green eyes
    She came close to him with a smile.

    • ANSWER:
      Hi. Your poem is deep and very touching, strong feelings and emotions. I love the words choices between the stanzas. The topic and the form makes your poem flow nicely. You make your readers feel with you, this is very good, the images and the picture words you painted is very interesting like a story in a book. Awesome poetic persona and you have an active imagination. I’m loving the last two stanzas you summed it up wonderfully, bringing the message home. Keep this up.

  10. QUESTION:
    Plz comment on my poem..?
    Mask man#
    In the middle of the night
    He entered the lonely house through window pane
    I’m the thief i’m gonna loot
    He said to himself,and checkd the gun again.
    No one’s gonna see him he thought
    As he was wearing a full face mask.
    His green eyes were the only flashing thing
    He smiled coz stealing is not a big task.

    The mask man thinks he is the bad boy
    Nothing’s gonna stop him this night
    Making his move without the light.

    Then he entered a room gently pushing the door
    And saw the big lamp in the corner still turned red
    Mask man took a glimpse of the room
    And found someone on the bed.
    He took a step back then he hit the table
    Glass doll fell and shattered he had to pay the price.
    It made the girl to wake up
    She stood in silence as she saw those green eyes.

    The mask man doubts was he the bad boy
    Is she gonna stop him in this night
    As he moves towards from dark to light.

    Mask man saw the girl and she was beautiful
    He looked her again
    Then he ran through the window pane.

    Mask man found himself in the morning
    Walking down the city street.
    Mask was off his head but girl in his mind
    Never seen a girl such a beauty n sweet.
    Then he saw a girl walking down to him.
    It was the same girl he saw before a while.
    The girl saw those green eyes
    She came close to him with a smile.

    • ANSWER:
      Haha it’s good man!

      I think it could use a bit of tidying up but if you wanted to leave it raw and overlay it on some ill bass beats then get someone with a clear and deep Jamaican accent to read it then it would actually sound really good man. Kind of a Damien Marley parody 🙂


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