The Stories of Things – the Making of a Home

Blue and white is back in the decorating world. I love the combination of blue and white; it’s clean and classic. This store featured blue and white containers and had more displays like this throughout the store. Blue and white was everywhere and seemed to be incorporated throughout every inch of the place. I enjoyed seeing these containers, but I did not buy one. They are beautiful but are missing an important element, a story.

Most of the things in our home have a story behind them. They were handed down by a previous generation or given to us by someone special. Each thing has a story or tradition or sentimental event attached to it. When we see these things we see the people we love and the events we want to remember. We feel loved and at home in every room. We are reminded of the times and places and people who have helped us become who we are today. There is lots of stuff in our house. Some people think too much. Yet when they ask us about an item, we have a story or memory we can talk about. Our home is beautiful and cozy and full of life. We enjoy making it our special place, and a place where others want to visit. Everything in it is there to bring joy or purpose to those who use the ‘stuff’ within our home. The stories make the place.

I recently went into a home and it was beautiful. It looked like a Pottery Barn advertisement. Driving home I thought about the home and realized it was more of a house. It was decorated perfectly and yet it lacked life. There were no stories, no family related items, nothing the owner could tell me about except the store where she bought it. The beauty of the house was there because a decorator had purchased it and arranged for it to be there. I did not feel the warmth and joy familiar things bring into a space. This is not a criticism, simply an observation. I was struck by the difference between this house and our home.

When I got home after this visit, I appreciated it much more. I took a nap in a family chair under a family quilt, and then used a family glass to drink a beverage. I watched a TV that was resting in the armoire made by my Dad and admired a painting painted by my Mom. I could hear my deceased brother laughing at the logs poorly stacked up by the fire place. I could hear my husband napping on the sofa under a blanket with one of our cats – his shoes piled on the floor near his dirty socks. I put on my slippers and walked around remembering all the people and places and memories. The stuff has stories and brings warmth and belonging to our world. I cheer for decorators and wish them well. They bring beauty to places that are just a plain box. Our decorator has been the people and stories and stuff we have gathered within our walls. These things, this stuff has made our house a home.