If my walls could talk, they would be on every talk show on tv and have their own Facebook page.
Many times I lay awake in the wee hours and can't go back to sleep. Do you know how comforting walls can be? Walls that I've painted and stripped of wallpaper, hung pictures on, entrusted my health and happiness to, surround me with nary a word but buckets of comfort.
I crawl into my robe and slippers, quietly I slip out of the bedroom and switch on the hall light. My eyes are assaulted by two pictures I bought in Korea above an old captain's desk I refinished. Across from the desk is an antique ice box that is now millions of years old -Ive had it for the last forty, and a small rug my mother-in-law gave me when my daughter was sick with a heart virus.
My life is hung, upholstered and scattered around our home. Ive been carting the same furniture around the world for 27 years.
I've added a new table, chair, or couch to the mix over the years but most of what I started out with-I ended up with. I feel at home with everything but every once in a while I'm overwhelmed with the old staleness and stodginess of furniture I have held onto for time immemorial. My daughter is now the proud owner of my first bedroom suit. It only has one night stand because my husband didn't think I would need one.
Birthdays, anniversaries and holidays were missed because I was living in some remote corner of the world. My collection of pictures and small bits and pieces of the minutia of life are sometimes all that I had to celebrate with. My blue couch has watched my children grow up and go off to college,
the end tables and coffee table in the den saw my children pull up and take their first step; I still have the rocking chair I got as my first mother's day present.
This home has been the one constant in my life
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