I’ve had company staying at my house on and off the last couple of months. Anyone who knows me well knows, I’m no Martha Stewart when it comes to home decor. I exist in a never-ending cycle of literal home improvement, but I have no desire for my house to be so completely put together that others don’t feel quite at home.
My childhood bed had covers, pillows, and a homemade quilt. No bed skirt, no decorative pillows, no silk sheets that were too pretty to sleep in. The first time I saw a lace bedspread, I hardly knew what to think.
I have been perplexed regarding many of the guest bedrooms I’ve slept in over the years. I never knew just what to do with the gorgeous pillows throned at the headboard. Crocheted, cross-stitched, trimmed with fringe, embossed with fabric paint and pearls. Was I to tuck one of these behind my back or under my head? Or was I to place them gently on the chair? I never knew.
I still don’t.
And what about those fancy towels in the bathroom? Perhaps I need to check with the etiquette rules of Emily Post, but am I to wipe my wet hands on the towel wrapped in delicate ribbon – or search for another? Was my upbringing really that uncouth – that I’m so awkward around such finery?
Or was it simply a functional childhood, where everything that had a place also had a purpose.
I have every good intention to make my house more organized, simple, clutter-free and yes, a bit more decoratively put-together. But if I ever have pristine-looking pillows on the guest bed when you come to visit, please know, you may use them however you wish.
image credit: Flickr photo by independentman