This post is part of a series called Creating Home in which I share musings about the process of creating a home, not just renovating a house.
This passage is from my very favorite book in the whole wide world,
Little Women. This passage describes the home of the eldest daughter, Meg, after she is married and moves in with her man. I kept the first part of the description because I love it so much, but the second paragraph is what I strive for:
It was a tiny house, with a little garden behind and a lawn
about as big as a pocket handkerchief in the front. Here Meg meant to have a
fountain, shrubbery, and a profusion of lovely flowers, though just at present
the fountain was represented by a weather-beaten urn, very like a dilapidated
slopbowl, the shrubbery consisted of several young larches, undecided whether
to live or die, and the profusion of flowers was merely hinted by regiments of
sticks to show where seeds were planted. But inside, it was altogether
charming, and the happy bride saw no fault from garret to cellar. To be sure,
the hall was so narrow it was fortunate that they had no piano, for one never
could have been got in whole, the dining room was so small that six people were
a tight fit, and the kitchen stairs seemed built for the express purpose of
precipitating both servants and china pell-mell into the coalbin.
But once get used to these slight blemishes and nothing
could be more complete, for good sense
and good taste had presided over the furnishing, and the result was highly
satisfactory. There were no marble-topped tables, long mirrors, or lace
curtains in the little parlor, but simple
furniture, plenty of books, a fine picture or two, a stand of flowers in
the bay window, and, scattered all about, the pretty gifts which came from
friendly hands and were the fairer for the loving messages they brought.
If there is ever words to decorate by, these are it! Take that, Architectural Digest.
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