Making it your own

The walls are a deep caramel and the furniture is black.  The drapes are striped with slate blue, caramel and black.  We chose an open airy beige backgrounded brown damask for the small bathroom and a gorgeous pale beige and blue damask comforter.  Behind the cornered bed we will arrange gothic candlesticks of varying heights.

Leah's bedroom is going to be beautiful.  Wendy did a great job of arranging the furniture and picking out the paint color.  I just came in with some ideas about complimenting her choices.

Saturday, Tim and I hosted our Wine Tasting fundraiser for Teddy and Annelise's school.  I gave everyone the tour of the home.  I felt proud and also humbled by the remarks that everyone made about the decor.

I've mentioned this before but it is worth stating again... I look longingly at Restoration Hardware and Pottery Barn;  I appreciate the cohesiveness and the seamless flow from room to room.  However, that is not me.

As I guided my guests throughout the house, I took inventory.  The moth eaten handed down Shiraz in Teddy's room, the $12 chair in the guest room, the shiny black "backsplash" I painted myself in the kitchen.

It is a patchwork quilt, my home.  It is hobbled together with love and curiosity and hopefully some style.

I used a Spode pitcher of Sassie's to hold the silverware.  I used Gran's green bisque vase for the centerpiece.

I am always secretly surprised and pleased when someone mentions they like my home.  It is such an amalgamation that sometimes I myself feel lost within it.  However, each affirmation is an envelopment.  Each compliment sends me soaring.  Like Sally Field, I want to scream "You like me!  You really like me!".

Saturday's party was a lovely success.  We sipped wine as the rain cascaded down outside the safe harbor of the screened porch.  Gran's vase held calla lillies and orchids.  People laughed and mingled and moved freely about the house.

It felt good.  It felt like home.  The night wore on and the party moved from the porch to living room.  I forgot to be concerned about the size and the shabby upholstery my cats had rendered.  I took stock.  A far cry from my mother's home, it is true.  My 1950s brick rambler will never have the graceful slopes and hollows that my mother's victorian possesses.  Yet, there is Gran's china and my uncle's modern Dorothy Mead and the Venetian glass chandelier in the study.  It will never be mistaken for a grand manse but it is a graceful home.  It encompasses all that I love... both material and not.

I know I know... ANOTHER blog about my house, decorating and expectations.  Yet this time I am happy to report, I feel at home.