the space i’m in.

my house isn’t fancy or well landscaped. it has small rooms with big closets and big rooms with odd angles.

it is not open concept, which means it has absolutely no flow whatsoever. there are double-paned windows that have been completely painted shut and the kitchen is divided in two small halves, forcing us to shuffle around one another in a 3 foot wide area that encloses every appliance and cupboard holding our dishes and cutlery.

there’s a full wall of tinted mirrors in the living room and a weird (albeit awesome) addition over the garage that has a sunken jacuzzi tub and wall-to-wall brown carpeting. (i try not to hate on it too hard, as it’s usually a favourite stop on the tour)

i don’t own my house, so there’s very little i can do in the way of renovations. but what it lacks in architectural style, i believe i make up for in details and personality.

i have always tried to make my home feel warm and welcoming, and as “me” as i can.

even the early apartments i lived in during my 20s were so very obviously mine – for the era and headspace i was in at the time – that you couldn’t help but know it was my place just from walking by.

in the case of my space, the nose knows.

i would say that the most important (and most defining) thing about my home is its smell. and maybe you can say that about most houses, but i’m almost obsessive about it.

it. has. to. smell. good.

it starts outside the front door and walks you through every room of the house. and it’s not just one specific smell that i ascribe to. it’s a variety of scents. they mostly reside in the earthy/hippie/confections domain.

actually, i was once told that i smell like vanilla cupcakes in a 70s yoga class. i’ll take it.

the things in my house that normally get attention are not the things i put a ton of thought into. it’s not my expensive west elm couch that i saved all my pennies for. it’s usually my framed elvis records, the stairway of kid artwork or my wall of love notes.

i hate the aforementioned wall of tinted mirrors in my living room. i think they’re a hot mess of tackiness and fingerprints. i tried to take them down but the wall underneath was pretty badly damaged and truth is, the room shrunk significantly with even one panel removed, so i decided to suck it up.

then one day, a love note that i had written to my kids, ended up on the wall. i don’t remember how or why. but there it was. a pretty little post-it with some encouraging words smack in the middle of what i considered a giant eyesore, actually made the wall look somewhat sweet.

so now, we write them when we’re happy or sad or feeling extra especially in love. there are postcards and prints and when someone visits, they have to make a contribution. some are short, and some are short novels.

it hasn’t made the wall any less tacky or less covered in fingerprints. in fact, it’s probably had the opposite effect. but people love that wall. it’s a conversation piece. it’s interactive. and although it may never end up in a style magazine, it’s all mine.

and i guess that’s the point. the things that i think are campy or silly, are the things that resonate the most with people. i suppose that’s because they resonate the most with me.

a vanilla scented entrance, framed stick figure drawings, bunting hanging below a vintage tattoo sign, dad’s old filing cabinet… the wall of words.

those are the places where the happy home magic happens.

**originally published on https://findyourpleasure.com

my space

 

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