The Front Porch

 To me every part of your house says something about you. Your yard might say, "I don't like to do yard work." or "I was born with fertilizer in one hand and a shovel in the other." It might say, "I make a lot of money and pay someone to every thing for me." No matter what, there is something silently being communicated. I enjoy few things in life more than discovering who people are and what makes them tick. If I ever have the pleasure of being inside your home know I am (often subconsciously) taking mental notes that will later surface in my brain when I am putting together the picture of who you are. A house gives so many ways to read someone. I should clarify that I am not making some hierarchy of judgment on your style, your cleanliness, your taste....no, no, I welcome all homes in their idiosyncrasies with open arms. I love how people are so different and therefore I love how homes are all so different. It is truly captivating to me.

  When Nate and I were first married we had a Sunday afternoon tradition of getting coffee at Einstein's and driving through neighborhood after neighborhood. I would imagine what the people were like living inside of all of those different houses we would pass. We would point out which caught our attention and why. I discovered much about my own tastes and preferences as well as Nate's and think it still offers me insight into both of us.

 Marge Gieser died of cancer. She was a woman with such beauty, creativity and life pouring from her that it is hard to try to explain any part of who she is to you. If you have met her, you get it. Anyway-Marge was speaking to a group of us on the subject of decorating. I took note upon note as I devoured her every brilliant insight and still use much of her wisdom in my own styling. One thing she said that day particularity stuck with me. In her straight-forward, no nonsense style she said, "I love when I see houses with blankets and toys laid all over the yard, it tells me people are really living there." Really living there. Really living. Really not consumed by the need to pick up every piece of evidence that children live there. Really not worried about blankets in the front yard because they were far too caught up in the delight of the day. Really living there.

I am not entirely sure why I shared that story, especially since I am the person that runs herself ragged picking up the toys and blankets in the front yard....but maybe that is precisely why I shared that story. Marge's words often push me to let go of some of my fist-clenchers and really live. Anyhow, after all of that we arrive at my front porch. I find pleasure from walking in and out of my front door because of the pieces that can be found there. They remind me of Michigan vacations digging for driftwood in the cold water, friends who give beautiful treasures away because they are moving, my Salvation Army find that has broken and been repurposed and Nate's love for our marble top table. I relish walking past it all because it is communicating so much about me. It feels like home, just as it should.