Fine Print 8/2/16

My first home as an 18 year old was a $900 trailer from the sixties. It had two small bedrooms. It was rundown and needed a lot of work.

Someone gave me an old gold couch, and I recall that I moved that horrid thing around many times trying to decorate that place. 

But it was a losing battle, because you just can't do much with "ugly."

Still, I dusted and cleaned as if it was a mansion instead of a decrepit little trailer house.

It was home to me and my infant daughter. I'd just graduated from high school, and enrolled in a nearby junior college. There I met the man I first married, my psychology instructor.

When he and I got together, we three lived in his house in Norman, Oklahoma. It was a small three bedroom tract home, about a thousand square feet. But I endlessly moved things around and decorated as best I could with house plants and things I collected.

I gave birth to my second daughter. He had adopted my first daughter soon after we married. 

We were to move three times during our marriage.

All this to say that I have been decorating since I had a place to decorate. 

I seldom had my own bedroom growing up. Usually slept with one or two people in the room with me. 

But decorating was in my blood, as was gardening.

Aside from keeping a home clean, it should reflect who you are. Your personality should shine from every surface. 

I hope mine does.

I really don't know where this came desire to decorate came from, as I grew up in dreary environments. But it was always there, a small seed that grew to fruition. 

I'm certainly not a "neutral color" decorator. My heart sings when I'm in colorful surroundings. Too much white and beige reminds me of coloring books that have yet to see a crayon touch them.

I love cozy little spaces (hence my blog title), candles burning, something simmering in the kitchen, flowers blooming in the gardens, and coffee brewing every morning. 

I am a homebody through and through. It is as much who I am as if it were in my genetic predisposition. Perhaps it is. 

Home is more than a dwelling to me. 

I am happy strolling the dusty aisles of antique malls, sorting through treasures that I visualize in my small space. 

I love collecting vintage jars and bottles. White pitchers and wash boards. Old signs.

I love to repurpose, because thinking outside of the box makes my heart soar. 

No matter where I happen to put down roots, it will be a cozy little spot that I decorate with love. Because love is what I feel when I come home and open my door. 

It is where I relax and meditate. Do yoga and find peace. 

Home is where I hang my apron. 

What does "home" mean to you?