goodnight, home
December 13, 2015 § 2 Comments
The day is done, it is already tomorrow. Rain drums heavily against the darkness in the early minutes of a new day. Our dog is curled into her corner, sleeping peacefully to the quiet hum of the dishwasher. My husband and children are already lost to dreams, limbs heavy with contentment.
As our home settles into sleep, I admire the confetti of chaos that illuminates an evening of happy distractions. Leftover dishes and the lingering smell of delicious indulgences. A minefield of Legos and remnants of construction paper creations; discarded toys unfinished storylines of play.
For every guest we clean our home in a gesture of care; sweeping the floors and counters, tidying the restrooms and storing away evidence of our mess. We do this to tend to comfort, but it is a cozier home with imperfect corners of shared time.
The footpath of daily life creates a gentler expression of home. I forget this each time until goodbyes, when I look to dirty dishes that speak of full bellies and the scattering of toys that hint at creative curiosities.
As I wish our home goodnight, I promise to leave the mess for new memories.
seasons of joy
December 2, 2015 § Leave a comment
The tree is settling, stretching its humble branches in want of ornaments still nestled in last year’s memories. For now its earthy scent fills the air with a fragrance as clean as the dusting of snow that blankets our morning lawn.
I have only begun to unpack forgotten keepsakes into newly familiar corners of our home. Anticipation and nostalgia linger over bins filled with colorful remnants of holidays past; elementary school wreaths crafted from construction paper handprints and wish lists drawn in earnest childhood print.
There is a quiet beauty in the undone beginnings of this season, a grace born of simple traditions that thread our days with mindfulness for the fleeting magic of childhood holidays.
Joy spills like Christmas carols across the silence and my cup runneth over.
a tale of two desks
October 15, 2015 § 4 Comments
Our home is new, the walls were built quickly and the floor echoed only with the pattern of curious day dreamers; potential buyers in want of a moment’s recognition that hinted at belonging. There are no hidden doodles on the stairway, no layers of paint to hint at past favorites or failed curiosity. The floors have not been refinished and the carpet does not conceal a forgotten treasure. It is our work to create a story; to weigh each corner with evidence of life.
The hollowness of such space has become an invitation to lend substance, to moor the emptiness with new importance. There was much we did not bring with; the space of new rooms a poor fit for old pieces. In trade we sacrificed previous belongings for used replacements. Welcoming pieces of furniture that read like unfinished chapters in lingering signs of wear.
The first was a heavy, oak desk. A tidy workspace that hinted at school days past; a teacher’s desk still proudly adorned with a pencil sharpener. I wondered at the children who may have once flocked to the invitation for movement; restless students roaming the tidy rows of an unknown classroom, chatty conversationalist seeking a fleeting word of connection, the eager worker bee or wordy writer with a worn tip.
I fell in love with the metal cylinder that proudly boasted the name of our former home and wanted to gift our daughter a piece of something lost in our move. The weight of home and a solid space to dream on paper. Deep grains and superficial scratches that promise a labor of love.
It was a similar joy that drew my husband’s eye to an old science desk; the slightly marred black work top and tidy wooden legs of an old classroom workspace. Too large for our son’s room, it has the promise of a project as my husband and son will craft it into a new desk. A love note to our son’s enthusiasm for science and sentiment for a favorite teacher.
I envision heavy microscopes and notebooks with doodles, smelly liquids and messy mistakes. Peers leaned into a lesson and friends chatting over open tables. More importantly, I see a childhood interest in a familiar shape.
These pieces are in stark contrast to the new nightstands and blank walls of our children’s rooms. Workspaces that tell stories and guard a place of creativity as we sound out the colors and textures of home; the past and present converging in weathered wood.
To my children,
Your desks are your place to take risks. Write what you feel and draft new ideas. Make messes and take chances, this is not the place to be cautious. The work of childhood awaits your mark.
Love, Mom
nesting & flight
October 10, 2015 § Leave a comment
Settling our home there is little we brought with us from our move, the space of our new house would not accommodate our old pieces and so we began with less. It was both a whimsical and cumbersome choice, one that required we tend, almost immediately, to decisions of necessity after the tiresome practicalities of moving while simultaneously freeing us of past choices.
Prior to moving, the decision was very liberating, we were unbound by worries of damage; spared the unpleasantness of unhappy discoveries had we transported larger possessions between homes. Furniture was sold or donated to new homes to simplifying the experience and expense of moving. Unfortunately, this choice also necessitated we scavenge our new community for replacement pieces.
The first weeks, during our time between homes, this was a source of amusement and adventure. We explored salvage shops and boutique offerings alongside online storefronts and large scale retailers for new furniture. There was no urgency to our search as we discussed preferences in favor of necessity and comfort over extravagance.
Like children playing house, the weight of each choice was lightened by the limitless possibility of dreams. One Days and Maybes unburdened by practicalities of budgets and the confines of space or time restraints.
It was only after we moved from the temporary space of our hotel to the permanence of our new home that our choices began to accumulate into a greater urgency. Empty rooms demanded a place to assemble over a meal; space to gather company; accommodations for rest. Of course, by this time, we were exhausted from the emotions and physical demands of our move.
It must be noted, here, that I do not flourish under the restraints of urgency, my thoughts become scattered by the sheer volume of choices that invite second guesses with each decision. My appreciation for quality contradicts the frugality my cautiousness affords. Additionally, while I admire objects of beauty, I am more endeared to the substance of less.
My husband, by comparison, is intuitive in his choices; more daring in his impulsivity. He is less inhibited by the temptation of so many possibilities and more certain of abstract elements. We are, at best, a comedy of doubt and decisiveness.
Over the past weeks we settled into an unexpected series of choices; quick decisions and those we struggled over as we muddled through the madness of a frenzied demand. Elements that thoughtfully incorporated pieces of our first homes and unfamiliar choices that stretched our expectations.
Everything from kitchen hardware to window treatments, everyday dishes and furniture is slowly evolving from abstract choice to reality. Contrasting materials and complimentary colors forming a new background for the noise of everyday life. Simple comforts and extravagant hopes in a harmony of uncertain anticipation and joy.
I underestimated the volume of choices that would accompany this move, but I have been inspired by the lessons in self this change gifted me. Small exercises in chance and creativity, compromise and certainty.
I’m further from my comforts and the illusion of control, more reckless in certain indulgences; less guarded in my risks. More than homemaking, it is a season of nesting and taking flight.
homecoming
September 27, 2015 § 2 Comments
For our children it was a week of school celebrations; traditional fall festivities in a place only newly home. Football games and formal dances without the comradery of old friendships and familiar colors. By Friday it was tempting to toss ourselves into the frenzy of other people’s enthusiasm, to assimilate into an expectation of good cheer for the sake of belonging.
Except the act of pretending demanded an energy we did not possess. Our daughter was homesick, our son disinterested, my husband and I were exhausted.
Sometimes we muscle through the difficult days, demanding joy, but Friday it was peace we sought. Everyone else’s noise had reminded us of a quieter absence and we found comfort in our shared contentment with a simpler experience of our new community.
We skipped the formalities of a high school dance for outdoor music at our local farmer’s market; the colors of our new school for the kaleidoscope of flowers bundled into humble bouquets. Here, among strangers, we belonged for the sheer serendipity of our experiences.
A beautiful fall day with small children and large dogs, warm food and cool drinks. Colors that threaded the bustle with a harmonious cacophony of lazy busyness.
We gave ourselves permission to belong only to the moment. There will be other games and new friends, community events and school celebrations, but this weekend was an exercise in coming home.
endings & beginnings
September 23, 2015 § Leave a comment
We made this move for a better life, to break the pattern of abusive behaviors that cycled through generations of family. Greed, narcissism, and substance abuse rattled around a closet of disheveled secrets. We honored the cost of these unhappy truths with tolerance and familial obligation; countless holidays and unexceptional calendar days marred by unwelcome guests.
Sixteen years we deferred our joy to the whim of our elders. We made excuses for poor behavior until our children outgrew our explanations; until no amount of love could mend a legacy of illness. The lessons we had fashioned for our children were not of tolerance, but of enabling over self-worth.
Somewhere along the way our empathy for the toxic spiral into manic behavior had betrayed a greater responsibility to a message of mutual respect. In our home everyone has the right to be loved and the responsibility to act with accountability. Period.
These boundaries have become red flags of aggression, a challenge to those who cannot yet see the tragedy of their behavior or hear our plea for peace. Aggressively we have been pelted with financial and emotional manipulations. It is a sad tragedy that has informed a new ending.
It is also a beginning. We carry the scars of the past with a tender mindfulness for the mistakes we dare not recreate for our children; a future informed by hope, a greater consciousness for a cycle that ends at the place we left.
farm & home
September 19, 2015 § Leave a comment
In seeking out furniture, hardware, and lighting elements for our home, I’ve noticed a trend towards farmhouse decor; rustic elements contrasted against a more urban setting. A space weathered by the elements that perseveres against storms and drought. Materials that sustain over time with a craftsmanship that speaks to care. Intentionally imperfect pieces that allow for signs of wear.
Barn doors, reclaimed wood, salvaged hardware all claim a passion for stories and history, a value in repurpose over more disposable investments. I want to anchor my home in the same dreams and determination that these pieces acknowledge and inspire with thoughtful nods to a quieter appreciation for beauty in resilience and hope.
I won’t pretend a lifestyle that isn’t genuine, but I think there is something comforting in the weight of these elements. An elegance in unruffled attention and purposeful details. Something I sometimes overlook in clean lines and vacant surfaces.
self & style
September 16, 2015 § 2 Comments
I fall in and out of love with borrowed ideas. Blessed with friends who are naturally brazen in their creative exploration of self, I tend to get lost in second-hand inspiration born of their fearlessness. I envy them their everyday bravery from the security of my neutral color palettes.
When we moved, I promised myself to challenge my preferences and play with unfamiliar accents. I pledged to make mistakes and take chances with color. A creature of habit, I found myself turning to online inspiration for a color by numbers approach to shading in the blank spaces of my home.
Each picture was a study in a stubborn resistance to change. Mismatched table sets seemed to invite the assumption of wear with trendy antiquing techniques, neutrals in contrast over color. Even my virtual pin board guarded old favorites with passive aggressive attempts at change; someone else’s other in shades of self.
Not unlike days of dog-eared catalogues from high-end home goods companies, I was browsing an ideal over individualism. I wanted the sense of casual elegance without the challenge of struggling with the risk of error, but I was already circling a larger truth.
Then my husband and I began shopping for a table. As we sounded out likes and dislikes, sifted through ideas and shared our needs, we began piecing together an ideal that was completely unexpected and entirely familiar.
We drifted from table to table, chair to chair, like fairy tales guest testing unfamiliar pieces of furniture for a sense of comfort that hinted at self, I began leaning towards a few surprising certainties that inform a sense of style.
Solid wood and clean lines, feminine curves and textures; I want pieces that will weather our daily lives with strength and grace. A table that my children will play on as naturally as they might unpack unused pieces of china for a special occasion. I want something that will hold the lines of stories in every scratch and dent for years to come.
Preferences that I previously disregarded as safe are no less beautiful for the joy or comfort they provide. I may never be trendy or bold, but I’m finding a different kind of wonderful as I learn that sometimes the bravest choice is recognizing self in personal style.
self & space
September 14, 2015 § 4 Comments
As we nestle into our new home, I am mindful of the love that crafts a space into a reflection of self. Empty walls and unmarred floors, naked windows and bare cabinets; we unpack our personalities into expressions of ownership with beloved items and thoughtful choices.
Over the past week I have become fascinated by the choices that hint at the authenticity of each family member’s unique spirit. My daughter’s restless need to fill a space with color or my son’s tendencies toward texture, my husband’s need to tailor his space with carpentry or my stubborn dependence on order.
There is chaos in the process of creation but there is also harmony in the language we use to offer belonging and security.
It is more than rediscovering cherished pieces of past experiences, we are similarly sounding out our hopes with invested choices for new objects; furnishings we imagine gathering around and the story we tell ourselves about these expectations. More than function or necessity, there is hope in the value of shared dreams.
Still, there is work in the privilege of choice. We honor one another by making certain the space we share reflects respect for our differences. We are architects of our own experience but guardians of one another’s story, the space of home a safe haven for individuality and belonging.
to my family
August 24, 2015 § 2 Comments
Today was the first day of school. We moved through awkward morning routines with a tenderness for tradition, laughing our way through nervous energy to break up the quiet of our doubts. In all the anxiety of change, we’ve found a gentler peace in one another’s company.
Over the past week we have simplified the space of family. Days spread across boxed corners of a house crowded into storage; evenings gathered around the table of friends who nurture us with kindness; dwindling summer days straddled between play and preparations. Home is a mindset of togetherness, a place of belonging that shelters us through change.
There is a certainty of sentiment, a comfort in the intangibility of tradition. Milestone photographs to mark this day were tempered by a silly appreciation for the comedy of our surroundings. We are living from suitcases in want of nothing more than time together. Breakfast balanced on hotel furnishings and a bathroom to share are small sacrifices for pool playdates and complimentary cookies.
This morning we expected to feel uncertain and the imperfect wisdom of this assumption created room enough for us to lean into our insecurities with a collective confidence. We’ve become more comfortable with the unknown, more certain of ourselves and one another.
As the school clock swings a neatly postured arm toward dismissal, I am eager to unpack the day’s events for markers of new adventures to come. Snapshots that spool around our words into a place of home.
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