Last night I was sitting with my brother John, enjoying the quiet time after dinner. We had gone on a 'hunt and gather' at the Goodwill, where I found a book of readings. There on the first page, I found a quote which caught my eye. "I have a sense of these buried lives striving to come out through me to express themselves." That may be interpreted in several different ways, of course. For me it struck a special chord because my career is so very different from the career hiding under the surface. Like a daffodil ready to poke it's head out of the soil, I feel the energy of an entirely different career waiting to emerge. I never discount urgings like this. Somewhere inside of me there is a designer who longs to create space. Inside or outside, it does not matter. Whether a garden or a home, my heart beats faster and with great excitement when I have even the smallest chance to bring beauty into my own environment.
As a child my home was the antithesis of beauty. The physical environment became the reflection of the alcoholism which poisoned my stepfather's life. In the beginning he purchased a property with many beautiful trees, flowering bushes and plants around a large old house. The place was full of possibilities with it's bridal wreath, tulips, lilies, orange blossom bushes, lilac, snowball bushes and cedar trees. The house was large enough to accommodate the 11 family members living there as it was built to be a hotel near a train depot. It was easy to see what he envisioned. Alcohol, however, ate away at the dream and the reality. Nothing was ever cleaned. He painted the ceilings dark blue and dark green "to hide the dirt". What insanity! Why not paint the ceilings white and clean them once in awhile. Nothing was ever thrown away but there were no dressers or closets or cupboards to store things. Cardboard boxes full of dead grandparents' belongings clogged the stairwell and the rooms. There was no inside bathroom, but a filthy pail in the corner. A single lightbulb hung from the ceiling in the kitchen. Grime on woodwork became saturated with tar from cigarette smoke. The smell of old beer and urine was suffocating in the summer. The only smell of "clean" that I remember was Lysol, which my mother used to try to disinfect the place when the kids developed impetigo. We bathed only occasionally in a galvanized tin tub with water dipped from a copper boiler on the greasy stove. We lived in filthy chaos. There was no privacy anywhere. Because of his demand for full attention there was little opportunity for my mother to focus on the demands of house keeping or home making.
The beginning of my desire to create beauty may have come when I was very young. Though modest, my mother's parents furnished their home with only the finest things. The smell I remember was lemon oil and wax. There was no dirt anywhere but in the 'mud room'. Clean windows allowed sunshine to flood rooms furnished with beautiful highly polished cherry wood furniture. My grandparents had a bathroom with a tub. Even today, I am grateful for clean linens and a place to take a bath. Grandmother grew the most fragrant roses. In her bedroom she tucked handmade sachets of home grown lavender. Her delicious lemon curd was a reminder of her Celtic roots. Grandfather even wore a white shirt with his bib overalls. He was a hard working, sober cattle farmer who built a round barn used to auction prize cattle. The barn became a metaphor. Built of iron oak, it is so strong, the fourth generation grandson could not raze it. Iron oak becomes stronger with age. Instead of tearing it down, the barn was sided with clean white siding and left to stand as a symbol of it's own integrity and of the farm's history.
Today, some 50 years (and several beautifully designed homes) later, I find myself looking at French dinnerware online, thinking of creating a romantic floral table setting. On an long primitive wooden table; set outside in the garden under a pergola, friends will eat a delicious meal under vines of wisteria. As a child I ate on chipped enamel plates with filthy silverware, sometimes tarnished green. I remember kids taking metal plates outside to share with the dog. The lack of beauty either kills the spirit or inspires the heart and mind to move in a beautiful direction. No wonder there is a budding of that desire to create harmony and joy. Today I will take time to clean my kitchen before I go off to seek inspiration. Keeping things in order and clean is the first step. Getting rid of excess unused 'stuff' is another first step. Beyond that, it is only a matter of looking around at the beauty God has provided. In looking, one can find every conceivable color and texture needed to bring a home to life. The winter is long but spring will be here soon. What nudges forth will see my dreams take shape once again. Perhaps in time I will be able to help others understand how to realize their own fair dreams of beauty. Perhaps this will become a career. What a joyful thought!
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