The Limousine Kicked Up A Cloud of Good Ole Texas Dirt
As we whooped our way down my favorite country road. In those days “going to the ranch” meant hanging out of the sunroof and waving to Calico (the old shetland mare) like a movie star with my seven and eight year-old cousins. Their world was a strange mix of opulence and down home earthy goodness: snapping peas fresh off the vine for lunch and then sidestepping cow patties on our way to the two-story playhouse.
Let me tell you, lattice trim and double balconies were just the beginning of the this cottage’s charm. There were matching daybeds with eyelet lace covers, a kitchen equipped with running water, a mini-oven and three speckled starling eggs nestled in the window flowerbox.
Back At Home . . .
The only lattice on my playhouse – AKA the storage shed – was made up of delicately spun cobwebs. My “running water” came from a hose and the “kitchen” was a slab of plywood with grease spots on it. I must say, though, it was magical. Just out front a gregarious, scraggly rosebush beckoned local sprites and leprechaun’s for tea and I – the grand hostess – welcomed them inside to an imaginary table set with fine silver, delicate china and red-checkered napkins.
Is “home” written on the heart of every little girl like it was mine? Like it is still?
In less than 30 days I will say goodbye to the sea of beige I have called home for the past eight years. Sure, there have been some uhMAZING times here (including two waterbirths!) but ya’ll I am soooooo ready. I didn’t know who I was back when I decorated this house, and
though the ambience has been somewhat improved with the random placement of toys and discarded bananas there are still parts that have the personality of a hotel room. Hmph!
And That’s Why, In A Little Town . . .
Just outside of Nashville I will fill flowerpots to the brim, splash color everywhere except the walls (we’ll be renting while we house hunt), and sand vintage pieces down to their first 10 “authentic” paint layers.
I will host dinners with gloriously mismatched dinnerware, serve tea in mason jars and make candles out of oranges. My grandmother’s rolltop desk will keep us company at “school” and her vintage mixing bowl will share in the joy of homemade cookie experiments. I have so many plans.
But mamas, there are so many ways to make a home that I don’t know about yet. And I’m getting this great big chance to start from scratch. So I’m asking you: How do you make your house a HOME?
Is it Saturday morning pancakes . . . fresh linens on Tuesday . . . cookies after naps? Or maybe something entirely different like mudfights, or that first moment of the day when all the kids are finally in bed.
What inspires you to LOVE home?
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