Creating a Home

I started thinking about this topic shortly after I wrote the posts about the life events that led us to buying Blake Hill House. I really enjoyed writing that series, but it also unearthed a few thoughts in the “feels” department of my brain.

Although I have always lived a stable life with solid, loving people, I have moved a lot. I have moved across the country more than once, and I have moved within the same town several times too. When I was visiting my mom in Missouri this past summer, we took a day trip to Branson. In the toy museum, the proprietor asked where were visiting from. My mom replied that she was from “here in Missoura“, which instantly secured her place as a native. When you are from certain parts of Missouri, you pronounce it “Missoura.” Everyone else looks at that “i” on the end and calls it Missouri (or Misery. I have heard all the jokes.).

The museum owner looked at me with expectation, and I suddenly felt like a deer in headlights. Since I had just completed the home ownership posts on this blog, that was the story flashing through my head in fast forward. How hard is it to answer the question, “Where are you from?” Apparently, it was very hard. I hemmed and hawed and what came out of my mouth was, “Uh, I have no idea.” I thought I saw a look of confusion pass across my mom’s face. We all laughed somewhat uncomfortably (Note to self: Read the room. Social questions don’t need deep answers.). I brushed it off and mentioned that I had lived all over the United States, so it was not an easy question. That answer seemed to satisfy him, and he said, “Well, welcome to Branson.”

So, what does this have to do with Blake Hill House? Well, I have developed some bad habits over the years. The first few times I moved as an adult, I spent a great deal of time putting things away and arranging everything just so. I took great pride in the few things that I owned, and I did my best to keep them nice. The next few moves were with small children in tow, so I did the best I could, knowing that not everything would be perfect. When we moved into the house that we bought in California, I had sort of given up on any semblance of order. Our house was under construction for the first nine years that we lived there. As avid DIYers, with very little disposable income, we had projects going every year. Our kitchen was in a state of construction for three full years. It was just enough to disrupt life, and at some point, I just stopped caring about what things looked like.

Oh, I kept the place clean. I decluttered as much as possible in order to keep our small space manageable. I did nothing to make the place homey, because I knew I would be tearing it up soon anyway, and it seemed like too much work to decorate a room that would be changing. I did not even put pictures up on the wall because I knew I would have to take them down to paint or maybe even move again. Finally, during the last two years that we lived in our house in California, I had had enough. I organized the entire space within an inch of its life. I hung pictures. We finally finished the last 10% of every DIY project we had ever started. If you have ever lived in a house filled with projects, you know just how good that feels. I hired out the hard stuff, and we really lived in that house. And you know what? I developed a great sense of gratitude for my home and for my life. Then, we put the house on the market. I was sad. My old habits returned.

Now, here we are in BHH, which is the mother of all projects. I have been firmly entrenched in the the who cares? attitude. Although we have no plans to move, my mind is automatically in short-term mode. It is as if I am afraid that the instant I go to the trouble of getting things just so, we will be moving again. That feeling is heightened by the fact that every room here needs something from light TLC to a full-on renovation. Some days it is just. too. much. But, Blake Hill House is special. You know it. I know it. As the caretakers of this treasure, we should be giving it more.

I am messy. BHH is the largest home I have ever lived in, yet not many of our possessions have a permanent home. I pile things. I am messy. Wait, I wrote that already. I cannot find items that I need. Sure, we get stuff done for the most part. Everyone is loved and fed, and I know that is more important than completing the to-do list or having perfectly fluffed pillows. Overall, we have done a good job of moving into this house, but we have done very little to make this truly a home. Sometimes, good enough really is good enough, but sometimes it is just a terrible excuse.

So, I am setting a new intention. My plan over the winter will be to really move into Blake Hill House with my entire self. I want to create a home that we actually want to live in. I want BHH to be more than merely a giant storage box for our belongings. I want it to feel warm and cozy. I do not want to let years go by before I hang a picture or put all the spaces in order. I cannot come close to fixing everything in this house right this minute, but in the meantime, I can move in. I can get comfy. I can hang some curtains and create a home.