Homeward Bound

I once lived in a farmhouse on Hogpath Road. 

I lived in a modern industrial loft on Peachtree Street, in a dorm room on Melrose Place and in my grandparents' 14th Street four-square after my parents' divorce.  

And there was that two-story apartment with four bedrooms, a loft and cute neighbors on Grand Avenue, too, which actually wasn’t grand at all. The bedrooms had paper-thin walls, the creaky loft overlooked the living room’s built-in maroon vinyl sofa and wicker outdoor furniture set, and the cute boys next door included a pyromaniac, a drug dealer and, of course, a true heartbreaker.

I have lived in many homes. Twenty-seven and counting. The most recent was the first I owned. (Well, co-owned.) Five years into our marriage, Matt and I settled into a sweet Arts and Crafts cottage of brick and stone with a sprawling backyard and a good dose of character. We made improvements, and we made it our own. We brought Beckett home to this house on Mother’s Day weekend 2007, and we buried our young dog under a white-blossomed dogwood three years later. Also on Mother’s Day weekend.

I loved this home as much, or probably more, than any of the others. But last Thursday, we dashed out of there just in time for a new owner to enter for a final walk-through. He approved, signed some papers, wrote the bank a check. And now it is his. His office furniture likely occupies Beckett’s nursery. His dishes are by now displayed in the tall glass-paned cabinets I loved so much. 

And he looks out the breakfast room picture window every morning and sees that dogwood, covered only in winter’s white dust and glassy ice.

Despite a sadness that is just starting to settle in today, I am thrilled about our next home (#28!). I look forward to welcoming you in, whether you enter through this site or through the actual front door. The house is being built now by an incredibly talented firm, Woodland Street Partners. (more on them and many design details and construction updates in coming posts)

We expect to move in mid- to late-March. In the meantime, I’d also like to share our adventures in a three-room upstairs apartment. This home is the smallest I have ever occupied. (Shall I say coziest?) Matt, Beckett and I are quickly learning lessons in shared personal space and creative microwave cooking. And I am introducing them to a concept I learned at a very young age and practiced my whole life: adaptability. Making one’s self at home no matter where you are.

While home is certainly about comfort and style and all the things that surround, I became cognizant perhaps earlier than most that, as trite as it may be to say, home is more so about the people with whom you live and eat and drink and sleep and play and love. (and argue… and steal the covers and hot water from…)

As I seek to keep family and friends posted—and perhaps to reach other readers contemplating issues of home, family, necessity, independence and, yes, fun stuff like style and design—I have decided now is a good time to return to this blog space. I hope you will join us on the journey from one home to another to another. And here’s hoping that this most recent “another” is the last for many years to come.