In so many ways I think that I've always been searching for home. As a little girl I would often imagine that my bedroom closet, which was narrow and very deep, was my home. Behind the row of hanging dresses and blouses I created a cozy, secluded nest for myself where I could draw and dream. One of my favourite things to draw where cross-sections of ant homes with their narrow tunnels leading to an ant kitchen, bedroom and playroom. I could visualize how safe and secure an ant might be tucked away underground in her little refuge.
As I outgrew the limited space of my closet, my bedroom became my haven. My mother gave me the freedom to decorate as I chose, allowing me to choose paint and wallpaper. I went through a phase where I Mod-Podged newspaper onto all the accessories of my room and another where I painted a full wall mural of a tree and a hippie (
I know, I know!!).
I loved the security of my room. Behind the closed door. I could relax, I could think, I could sit and listen to the crackly songs from a tiny grey transistor radio. As a teenager I could take my inevitably cranky self away from the concerned faces of my parents and be miserable and vent onto the few lines offered in a fabric covered lockable diary.
I wonder now if I was drawn to study interior design less as creative expression and more as a longing to create a home. Forty years later I think, yes, that was always it. I've longed for the safety, security, freedom and relaxation of being truly home. And I've wanted to help others find it too.
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| A quiet corner for crochet |
I've been married, married with children, single with children, married with children
and other people's children and now I live alone. In every case I've longed to create a home, a refuge for myself and my family. I've painted and fixed up and sewn curtains and chosen furnishings.
But I'm realizing more and more that while I craved a refuge from the world I also craved a refuge from those I lived with. I need a lot of solitude to offset the effects of being surrounded by others, even those I love. A few years ago I wrote a post about work.
"leaving the work place". Now I realize it was never work itself that was the issue, it was that working meant I lacked solitude, I was surrounded at work and at home, there was simply no possible way to have enough time alone. I felt trapped and not working afforded me a way to be alone while my family left for the day.
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This explains, I think, my near giddiness on mornings like this one when I wake up and notice the gauzy bedroom curtains lifting and falling against the morning breeze, how the predawn lightness fills my room and turns the wooden wardrobe a honey-yellow, how even the outdated blush-pink tiles of my 1963 bathroom are absolutely beautiful and perfect. It helps me to understand why I am moved to tears, yes, actual tears with gratitude for this house, this brick and mortar building has been my home for nearly 25 years. But at a deeper level I'm moved to tears with gratitude for this life, this single life, a life that is beautiful and (mostly) feels balanced with a mix of working and socializing and then the sheer delight of coming home to the hushed solitude, a cool refreshing oasis from the world. A place where I am relaxed. A place where I can be still and know, know that God has me and that I finally have a soft place to fall in a sometimes harsh and overwhelming world.
Thank you for visiting My Turquoise Kettle Life today.
I hope that you too find your home,
Sandra
