DANCING ON MARS excerpt - Home

                                        
                                                                
                             “It is good everywhere, but home is better.”  ~ Yiddish saying

    Home:  May it mirror your passions.  May it be a peaceful sanctuary for love and a benevolent guardian of memories.  May it embrace you and nurture your growth.  
   
    A friend defines what’s important in his life by asking, “Can it love me?” I’ve borrowed his approach a number of times.  Most recently I asked that question about my home.  You might think I’m certifiable when I say,  Absolutely yes, my home loves me.  I can feel its comfort, its inspiration, its playful whimsy when I’m taking myself too seriously, and its peace when I need rest and rejuvenation.  

    Even though I understand that my true “home” exists as part of me, within me, love of a material home can be a major love relationship.  One that can last a lifetime.  Not really a material girl, I feel my home transcends materiality.   It seems more of an organic entity than a “thing.”   Maybe that’s partly because I’ve loved making it the haven it is.

   When people tell me that certain improvements would increase its value, I find myself feeling a little, I don’t know, misunderstood?  Peeved?  It’s silly, I know.  The home-caring things I do and changes I make are strictly for my own comfort and enjoyment.  If it brings greater financial benefit to others when I’m no longer around, all the better.  But I don’t think or plan that way.   I’m staying present to the gift of living in it now.
                                                                              ***
   
    The home Rachel built after becoming a late-life empty nester gives me reason to believe it’s never too late to have a home you truly love.   Like Rachel,  Bev was able to build a home for one, with breathtaking views that bring the natural world to her every day.

    Not everyone is able to build a “dream home,” but home can be created in whatever space you occupy -- house, condo, or apartment.  Monica says her “heart feels its best” in her 600 sq. ft. 1927 vintage apartment with its cozy plant-filled porch.   And Ursula, divorced after twenty-five years, was thrilled to find the bungalow that is now exclusively hers.  She has turned it into a delightful space that, for the first time in her life, mirrors exactly who she is.

    Making a home truly yours is an ongoing education, offering endless gifts of self-revelation.   It brings opportunities for learning, and remembering, what’s important to you.  Like yoga, it stretches you in unimagined ways. Whether you’re starting out or starting over, budget needn’t stand between you and a high degree of satisfaction in your home.  Even if your budget is modest.

    If you live alone, home is your personal canvas; you get to choose the color palette, the furnishings, the textures and the tone.  If you share your living space, it’s important to have your own “home within a home,” a place you can create in your own image.  A sanctuary  where you can retreat into privacy to think,  gather your wits, replenish your energy.  Ideally there will be a door you can close.  And open.

                                                             Home Blessing

           

                                                             I have a knowing

                                                             that this home

                                                             will cradle you

                                                             in peace,

                                                             soften the din

                                                             of marketplace madness

                                                             whispering Find your center.

                                                             I have a knowing

                                                             that this place

                                                             will embrace you

                                                             with coolness

                                                             or warmth,

                                                             whatever is needed

                                                             to balance the seasons

                                                             of your days,

                                                             to soothe,

                                                             comfort

                                                             and tenderly teach

                                                             as you allow.

           

                                                             Love

                                                             that sets no conditions,

                                                             holds no expectations,

                                                             flows easily

                                                             between this home

                                                             of brick and mortar

                                                             and your home

                                                             of flesh & bone.

                                                             Love nourished

                                                             by a wellspring

                                                             of truth, growing

                                                             as you breathe

                                                             in and out,

                                                             awake, fully

                                                             aware,

                                                             and celebrating

                                                             the blessings

                                                             of Home.  

 

                                                                           *** 
                                                
                                                                  Feeling At Home
    

What feels like home is unique to each individual.  Some thrive amid mounds of magazines and newspapers, tabletops covered with bric-a-brac.  Others are happiest in a minimalist environment.  Truth be told,  I’d go stark-raving mad in either.  Sure, sometimes I feel a tug of envy at the zen-like simplicity of a friend’s home or wish I could be okay with stepping over piles of mail and magazines.  But neither would work for me.  It would be like wearing shoes a size too small or too big.

    Having a home I love means being fearless in making sure it’s pleasing to me.  Not thinking of whether it will win the approval of this or that friend, neighbor, or relative.  They won’t be living here.  I recommend getting brave enough to try anything, at least as far as color and furniture/object placement go.   Those things can be changed fairly easily. 

    If, say, you paint a room “Monet Sunset” and it feels like you’re stuck inside a bottle of Pepto Bismol when it’s done, get on back to the paint store!  Paint can be pricy, but for the significant difference it makes, it’s worth whatever it costs.   I believe color is key to making a space uniquely one’s own.  

    Color cards from paint stores can be helpful.  Using the copier, one friend has enlarged a few she especially liked, masking-taped them to the wall and lived with them for a while before making a decision.  And  I’m fond of fabric stores where I’m allowed to bring home, and keep, small samples of appealing textiles.  Never mind that I don’t sew.  It’s all about how the colors, textures, and patterns make me feel.  Fabric swatches help me choose the colors and designs I want to have surrounding me.
   
      In making changes at home, I did myself a favor by giving up perfectionism.  Striving for “the perfect” inevitably leads to analysis paralysis where I’m frozen in obsession, endlessly weighing options.  I remind myself and you:  Trust your instincts.  Build self-trust with every decision you make, and celebrate each small success.   For me, a decorating project or purchase is a huge success if it makes me feel really good once it’s part of the household.  When I’m not too entrenched in an idea of what I want,  whatever I need is more likely to find me.  And I’m likely to love it.  It’s all about staying open and aware.
   

      Of course the equation changes if you’re sharing space, especially with someone whose tastes are vastly different.  If need be, you can always call in a “decorating coach” to help find a good compromise.  Most designers are willing to consult on an hourly basis to resolve specific problems.  Or you might arrive at the solution you need by recruiting a friend to brainstorm with the two of you and serve as a mediator.  Living solo or partnered, don’t torture yourself and spoil the fun by making molehills into mountains. 

                                                                                    ***

    If you don’t know what feeling truly “at home” means for you, wouldn’t you like to find out?  If so, you might begin noticing how you feel in other people’s homes.   If you are especially relaxed or suddenly energized, ask yourself whether the surroundings are affecting your mood.  Can you identify what triggered the feeling?

    Over time I discovered that my spirit needs cheerful, nurturing surroundings.   Some traditional furnishings and warm wood tones are important for my sense of security.  They seem to “ground” me.   A couple of family heirlooms give me a sense of life as a continuum.  They connect me to my roots.  Some dramatic touches reflect and feed my passion, and there’s some whimsey to make me smile every day.   Examples would be the bodacious mermaid painted on an old shutter and “The Grapes of Laugh” featuring three of my favorite things:  laughter, wine, and a crow.  I need warm, bright color and candles, always. Soft lighting for ambience and good, focused light for reading.  Of course a comfortable place to sit and to sleep are bottom-line basic.  And art and special photographs that please me are a must, as well.   For Christmas I gave myself an electric fireplace insert; it’s amazingly realistic.  Puts out minimal heat but adds the ambient warmth I wanted.  

    I’m no expert at feng shui, but a friend who is reminded me that bedrooms are for peaceful rest and intimacy.  No electronics.  No bill-paying therein.  No work. There’s a battery-operated brass clock at my bedside rather than digital; no TV.   Sometimes I do cheat and allow Happy, my laptop, into bed --for writing, as I am doing now. When writing or editing begins to feel like work, I’ll head to the desk.

    Maybe describing a room would illustrate the art of the possible when it comes to creating spaces in sync with who you are.  Telling you about one of my own rooms might show that getting the look, the feeling, you want in a room or a house can be done without spending a lot of money.  Welcome to my bedroom.

                                                                      

    A four-panel Japanese screen owns the wall opposite my bed; it’s an original, painted by an artist in Kyoto.   A signature chop is imprinted in the left-hand corner of the golden hues that
underlie bamboo trees and flowers blooming in deep orange and white; there’s a little bird nearby deciding on his next move.  That I was drawn to this screen was surprising.  Oriental art never has been a favorite.  Had it not been in a thrift store, I wouldn’t have given it a second look, probably wouldn’t have seen it at all.  This original art would be worth no telling what.  I’ve seen similar prints, not half as lovely as this original, for over $500.  And for what became the centerpiece of my bedroom -- the golden, sun-washed beauty I see when I open my eyes every morning -- I paid $30.  I cherish the serenity I feel looking at it.

    There are gems out there waiting for you, too.  It’s just a matter of looking around, sometimes in unlikely places, and returning often to benefit from rapid inventory turnover at low-cost consignment and thrift stores.  The screen was a lesson in staying open to change and having the willingness to revisit my preferences.  They have evolved over time, changed as I have changed.

    Quite a few household treasures have come from thrift or consignment stores,  flea markets, and garage sales.  In the weeks after the screen came to live in my bedroom, a beautiful Paprika silk comforter called to me from a red-dot clearance bin at World Market.  I was able to get the comforter and matching pillow shams for under $60.  Had been over $200.   

 
    At the double windows are white paper shades and sheers in two tones of striped cream, a pattern reminiscent of bamboo.  They soften and lighten the room.  Understand,  I didn’t know they would serve such a purpose when I saw them.   I got them because I liked the way they look.

    Under the windows is a narrow, distressed wooden bench in medium green built by a local craftsman. I found it at a resale store at the beach.  At this moment the bench holds a meditating Buddha (about the size of an accent lamp), books, and a small vase of flowers.  I always I always enjoy fresh flowers or greenery in my room.  I’ve loved and lived with my Buddah  ever since I saw him in an  antiques, collectibles and junk co-op probably fifteen years ago.   (At the same place a few years later, I found an African drum with a face mask carved in the base for $30.  Too high-energy for the bedroom, but it’s a star in the living area.)  Atop a few books lying down next to Buddha is a brass bird I call “Buddha’s bird.”  The day I received it as a gift I had no idea what I would do it.  I love birds, real ones, but--.  Now he’s precious to me as the friend who gave it.  It all comes together in time.

    Under the screen is a simple, narrow sofa table from Goodwood and stained by me.  I remember my friend Pat would not be defeated the day she took me to pick it up.  She willed it to fit in her car and, miraculously, it obliged.  It holds, at one end, a lamp and a little gold and natural straw letter basket, perfect with the screen and lamps, was fifty cents at a thrift store.  At the other end, a framed picture of granddaughter Emmalee playing dress-up, a small bronze mermaid, and a candle.  There’s a golden-brown wicker rocking chair with a cushion and throw pillow next to the end of the table where the lamp is.  A small cane-bottom chair that belonged to my grandmother is at the table,  with a big basket holding magazines underneath.  A majesty palm -- relating to the bamboo on the screen, the lucky bamboo plant, and the pattern in the sheers -- is happy near the windows at the end of the bench. 
    

Matching traditional bedside tables were given to me by my mother; they hold brass lamps -- different designs from different times and places -- on either side of the cherry sleigh bed, queen-size.  A  corner hatrack is home for my beach hats and a bike helmet I’ve never worn for biking, but keep in anticipation of a tornado warning.  There’s a second large basket in the  room, holding books under my bedside table.  Reading material is close at hand everywhere in the house.
    

In “Return to Eden,” the framed poster over my bed a man and woman, who could be Mayans, have found sanctuary in a garden with huge yellow hibiscus blossoms and palm fronds.   They sit close together, heads touching at the temples. They are sleeping, their faces radiating innocence and peace.  I found “Eden” at a consignment store, framed, for $12.

   

On the narrow wall between a pair of white louvered closet doors are three dark frames hanging in a vertical row; two are shadowboxes.  One is a collage I was inspired to make while corresponding with an artist,  exchanging my poems and pictures of his artistic creations electronically.   In the collage are lush green images, an ancient wooden door, lines from a poem I wrote, words from Rumi, and a large, rustic key.  That collage is my best memory of a short-lived relationship, lovely in the pen-pal stage.  Another frame holds three very old keys whose history I don’t know.  Must have been a bargain.  Last in the trio is a framed postcard, a charming village in Italy, sent by a friend visiting there.

    The walls in my bedroom are a soft yellow.  There’s no overhead lighting, just a vintage white ceiling fan.

    I like to incorporate the five elements in a room whenever possible.  In this case I have Earth with the palm, bamboo, and cut flowers.  Fire is symbolized by the orange comforter, shams, tabletop candle, orange flowers in the Japanese screen and Eden poster.  Metal is in a vase, the brass lamps, and light switch plate.   The furniture and the carving of the lovers represent wood.  Water?  Of course there’s water in the flower vase and bamboo, but, best of all, there’s the beautiful lake I can see from the bedroom windows.  

  

Good memories are associated with many items in the room and the love of friends and family is in objects they’ve given me.  My granddaughter lives too far away, and photos make it easier to feel closer to her.  That’s a lot of detail, but bear with me.

 

Under the windows is a narrow, distressed wooden bench in medium green built by a local craftsman. I found it at a resale store at the beach.  At this moment the bench holds a meditating Buddha (about the size of an accent lamp), books, and a small vase of flowers--always enjoy flowers or greenery in my room.  The peaceful Buddha has graced my life for 15 years,  ever since I saw him in an  antiques, collectibles and junk co-op.   (At the same place a few years later, I found an African drum with face mask carved in the base.  Cost:  $30.  Too high-energy for the bedroom, but it’s a star in the living area.)  Atop a few stacked books next to Buddha is a brass bird I now call “Buddha’s bird.”  The day I received it as a gift I had no idea what I would do with it.  I love real birds, but this....?  Today he’s precious to me as the friend who gave it.  It all comes together in time.

 Beneath the screen is a narrow sofa table gotten ages ago from Goodwood and stained by me.  (I remember my friend Pat would not be defeated the day she took me to pick it up; she willed it to fit in her car and, miraculously, it obliged.)  It holds, at one end,  a lamp and a little gold and natural straw letter basket, perfect with the screen and lampshade and fifty cents at a thrift store.  At the other end, a framed picture of granddaughter Emmalee playing dress-up, a small bronze mermaid (a gift from my friend Laura), and a candle.  There’s a golden-brown wicker rocking chair with a cushion and throw pillow next to the end of the table where the lamp is.  A small cane-bottom chair that belonged to my grandmother is at the table with a big basket holding magazines underneath.  A majesty palm (relating to the bamboo on the screen, the lucky bamboo plant, and the pattern in the sheers) is happy near the windows at the end of the bench. 

 Matching traditional bedside tables were gifts from my mother; they hold brass lamps, different designs from different times and places, on either side of the queen-size cherry sleigh bed.  A  corner coat rack is home for my beach hats -- and a bike helmet I’ve never worn for biking.  I keep it in anticipation of a tornado warning.  There’s a second book basket under my bedside table.  Reading material is close at hand everywhere in the house.

In “Return to Eden,” a framed poster over the bed, a man and woman, who could be Mayans, have found sanctuary in one another, resting in a garden with huge yellow hibiscus blossoms and palm fronds.   They sit close together, heads touching at the temples. They are sleeping, their faces radiating innocence and peace. This couple, and Eden with them, came from a consignment store, framed, for $12.  

With all my heart, I believe you can create a home that mirrors you, using furnishings that have meaning.  A home that makes you feel very, very good when you walk in the door.  So good you might be reluctant to leave!

Go slowly.  It all takes time, and it would spoil the fun if you did it all in a hurry.  It’s fun to add things as you go along -- souvenirs from travels, special art that finds you, gifts from people you love.  If you want immediate change but can’t manage a large project for now, choose one corner in one room -- a new table or lamp, or a painting you might consider moving from one place to another.  You might be surprised by the impact a small change can make.

                                                                               *** 

I’ve found it’s important to keep my surroundings up to date.  I’m not talking about trends here.  For me, updating means checking in with myself periodically to see whether this or that item or aspect still has meaning.  For example: Does it still make me feel good?  Is it comfortable, functional?  You might ask yourself whether the colors on your walls are the ones you need at the present time.   Maybe you’ve gotten over the monochromatic look and would enjoy living with more or different colors.  Sometimes it’s good to take a how-much-do-I-love this-or-that-aspect-of-my-home? inventory. 

    

Here’s an “inventory” example from my own experience:   At some point I bought a poster-size print of a little girl, maybe 6 or 7, standing beside a brass-potted  hydrangea.  The girl had red hair, and the light in the painting was exquisite.  I splurged to have it framed beautifully.  It was perfect for my dining room.  After some time passed, I began to look at the painting less and, when I did, it was with a twinge of sadness.  Indeed, the girl’s face was sad as she stood there in her starched white dress, knowing she must be careful not to get dirty.  She seemed to be staring into the middle distance.  Sometimes I’d look at the portrait and feel angry.  Angry!  What was that about?  It was a nice painting.  I had liked it enough to buy it not long ago, hadn’t I?

   

Finally I understood that the girl might have been me as a young girl,  me throughout most of my life, poised for action when cued by one of the people I lived to please.  And, like me, ever apart from the rough and tumble world of fearless children.  Staring at the little girl I could hear echoes of “Be sure to get home before dark!”  “Are you dressed for Sunday School?”   Like this girl, I was always “standing by” on the periphery of others’ lives, waiting.

Exploring my feelings about that painting was the beginning of saying goodbye to that passive, people-pleasing aspect of myself.  To the little girl in me who was weaned on fear.  The experience helped me see that I still was giving fear too much power in my life.  Waking up to that truth has been a significant part of my growth.  It’s all about awareness and what we do with our “seeing” once awakened to a new aspect of our own truth.

I took some quiet time to honor the sad, fearful girl I had been, and then I let her go.   I donated the print to a charity shop.  Later, I painted a bright, bodacious abstract to go in that frame.

                                                                               ***

 

Home is one of the significant loves of my life.  In the South Carolina Midlands I lived in a well-loved home for twenty years.  I said many times that the only way I’d leave it would be “feet first.”  A lot of life was lived in that house.  Son Neal lived there with me during some tough teenage years.  My two dogs lived and died while I was there.  It was a place treasured friends felt

comfortable bringing their tears and laughter.  I had opened myself to the possibility of a “love” relationship there, and it was there I began coming to terms with my solitary life.

The house was on a beautiful street across from a lake.  I could see a sliver of the lake from the big shadowbox window in the kitchen, could see more in winter when the trees were bare.  Mine was a small house in a neighborhood of increasingly huge, expensive homes.  People across the way had torn down a charming, spacious house and replaced it with the most ostentatious piece of real estate you ever saw.  It was far too big for the lot; I half expected it to sink into the water.  The house screamed “nouveau riche” and completely screwed up my postage-stamp view of the lake.  I now faced a wrought iron fence topped out with spears; it spoiled the peaceful landscape.

Then the house next door to that one was sold and gutted.  In that case, the one they demolished could have made Architectural Digest.  Old money this time, but still it wasn’t as nice as the house they ruined.  As my mother would say, “Some people have more money than taste.”  My older neighbors had died out and taken all the good taste with them.

Understand, I loved my familiar city and the longtime friends and happy acquaintances who live there.  I liked the location -- about ten minutes from my downtown office, three minutes from a wonderful shopping area.  Not a behemoth mall, but a shopping center with good restaurants, a fantastic Fresh Market, ice cream parlor, and Hallmark Shop.  Also, a book store, post office, Chico’s and Steinmart.  The public library was within walking distance. Perfect!

 So why in the world did I decide to move?   I fell in love, that’s why.

Sharing a few photos from the Midlands home with blog friends:

                                                                       


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