I think that each room in my house represents a different part of my self. Now that the house is cleaned, organized, and mostly decorated, here's my self-analysis.
The master bedroom: My subconscious, my heart, my romanticism. I share this room completely with my husband. We are intertwined in this room. It is the place I feel safe. It is the place we share all our secrets. It is the room in which our souls combine during our sleep...I love this room.
The guest room (aka "Dee's Room"): My past, my need to hold onto my childhood and my roots, my get-away. I decorated this room in a sort-of country-girl chic. Pastel greens with pink- and rose-colored accents. A very girly "shabby chic" bed linen set, stuffed animals, ballet art work, candles, and dried flower bouquets everywhere. My antique sewing machine table, with my new model sewing machine, and a closet of gifts, wrapping paper, and gift bags Martha Stewart would be proud of. I've always wanted a room like this. I feel it makes me closer to my baby sister because she has a room like this, and she calls it my room. Yes, I have my own room in my sister's house in Tennessee. Now she has her own room in my house in Illinois.
The master bathroom: My solace. My thinking place. My planning place. I like the simplicity of this room. Whites with lavender accents. I ponder life in the steam of the shower. I refresh my body and mind. I recharge myself here.
The kitchen: My comfort, my warm fuzzy, my life. I love to bake. An entire section of cabinets is dedicated to that love. I feed more than my stomach in this room. JR and I share breakfast and conversation in this room. It is a great room for casual conversation over a cup of tea. A radio in the corner allows me to sing and dance like nobody is watching (even if they are) while I cook, bake, and clean.
The "Great Room": This is a room in progress. It will be the ever-changing room, I can feel it. Currently, it is a fabulous wide-open room with many comfortable seating choices. A set of bookshelves in a corner offers visitors a myriad of reading materials, each section offering a peek into my and my husband's hobbies and interests (an entire section of writing manuals, another of comic books, another of antique collectible books, and yet another of mystery novels, to name only a few). With a fireplace, I am sure this room will provide a great place to have a wonderful visit with friends, sharing a glass of wine and a vivacious discussion. In the future, this room will transform...into what is the unanswered question.
The downstairs bathroom: The place where all life's problems end up. Currently, according to the downstairs bathroom, life has no problems. Over the last few months, life was ankle deep in poop. Now, everything is working well again.
The basement: The fun, the entertainment, the togetherness. This is the most-used room in the house. This is where we laugh during comedies, cry during love stories, hide under the covers during horror fests, and work our butts off to video games. This is the room where the board games are pulled out and played till exhaustion sets in. This is the "family" room.
The laundry room: The room where the cleaning happens. Therapy takes place during the laundry process. Life is sorted out, and all the bad stuff from the week is washed away (including the inevitable food stains on my shirts). I am so happy to finally have this room!
The office/my closet: This is the secret room. The room nobody is allowed to see. The mess. The boxes. The clutter. The clothes and shoes and shoes and shoes. The computer is in there somewhere. Despite it serving as my closet, my husband spends more time in the office than I do. He kills zombies on the computer into the wee hours. This room holds his solace and relaxation.
The patio: The "ahhhh" place. Where we go to rest after yard work. Where we make the neighbors hungry from the wonderful aromas of the grill. Where JR's pet Zombie "Morty" lives with his pet lizard "Lexie." (I'll update this with pictures, I promise.)
The garage: The holder of things we don't know what to do with...for now. That's all I'm saying.
Every room is important to the whole of the house...Every piece represents a different part of our lives...I love my house, and I love my life.
Showing posts with label Deanna. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Deanna. Show all posts
Monday, July 19, 2010
Friday, June 18, 2010
Sisters
Today's storm has led my brain into one of those train-of-consciousness-type nostalgia sessions...
It begins with my trip to the Wilton Tent Sale with my baby sister Deanna last weekend...we had breakfast with our husbands, her daughter, and our brother's daughter at McDonald's. She and I walked over to the tent sale while the boys took the girls to the park. We had such a great time walking up and down the aisles and picking out things we loved or needed or really, really wanted...It was great to spend time with my sister in that way: as adults, as friends, with such a relaxed agenda.
As we approached checkout, the bottom fell out of the sky. It was pouring, and we had left the car at McDonald's--all the way across the big Wilton parking lot...so, we wrapped up our purchases in the big plastic garbage bags they gave us, and we started out. We didn't run. We didn't scream. We laughed. We laughed HARD. We stomped in a couple of puddles. We smiled so big it hurt our faces. We had a great time walking in the rain, arm in arm, as sisters and friends. We felt like kids again. We both said aloud how lucky we felt to be spending this time together since we are so far apart geographically.
A turn in my memory lane led me to hunkering down in the middle hallway of my parents' home during a heavy storm with my middle sister Teresa when we were teenagers. We were at home alone, and when the storm started we completely freaked out. We thought for sure a tornado was going to come rip the house off the foundation and send us flying. We were holding hands, and we had written a "if you find us" note (I have never claimed to NOT be dramatic...). We can laugh about it now, but it was one of the few times --ever-- that I've spent that kind of quality time with Teresa.
Deanna and I were fast friends as children. She is almost six years younger than me, and she clung onto me with all her might as a kid. We hit a rough patch when I left for college, wide-eyed and ready to meet the world head-on. She felt abandoned, and I had no idea...years later, as she was starting her marriage and I was settling into Chicago as my long-term home, we grew closer again. She's my first best friend. I cherish her, and I am so happy that we can still laugh in the rain together.
Teresa and I were constant competitors. She is almost two years younger than me, and she was always held up to a standard by others that I didn't even know I had set...I ached for her to appreciate the things I did as the older sister. I wanted to be friends with her and be able to hang out with her. She wanted little to nothing to do with me. I tried so hard for so very long to develop a relationship with her. I still put forth an effort, but I know I've given up some hope. I love her dearly, but I feel lost when I try to put into words what our relationship is or should be.
I know other sisters who have long-distance friendships, who have strained relationships, who have come back into the lives of each other, who have not spoken in years... I know of sisters in pain because they cannot be together.
Let me tell you something: Nobody is ever going to know you as well as the sister you grew up with. Nobody else is going to know the perfect thing to say to make it all better and to make it all come crashing down. Nobody else will be able to have an entire conversation with you that nobody else can even begin to comprehend, whether it's facial gestures, nonsensical words, or a specific giggle. Nobody else can make you feel like dirt and just as quickly make you feel like the queen of the universe (or co-queen, anyway).
Love your sisters. If you don't have biological sisters, love your sister-friends.
It begins with my trip to the Wilton Tent Sale with my baby sister Deanna last weekend...we had breakfast with our husbands, her daughter, and our brother's daughter at McDonald's. She and I walked over to the tent sale while the boys took the girls to the park. We had such a great time walking up and down the aisles and picking out things we loved or needed or really, really wanted...It was great to spend time with my sister in that way: as adults, as friends, with such a relaxed agenda.
As we approached checkout, the bottom fell out of the sky. It was pouring, and we had left the car at McDonald's--all the way across the big Wilton parking lot...so, we wrapped up our purchases in the big plastic garbage bags they gave us, and we started out. We didn't run. We didn't scream. We laughed. We laughed HARD. We stomped in a couple of puddles. We smiled so big it hurt our faces. We had a great time walking in the rain, arm in arm, as sisters and friends. We felt like kids again. We both said aloud how lucky we felt to be spending this time together since we are so far apart geographically.
A turn in my memory lane led me to hunkering down in the middle hallway of my parents' home during a heavy storm with my middle sister Teresa when we were teenagers. We were at home alone, and when the storm started we completely freaked out. We thought for sure a tornado was going to come rip the house off the foundation and send us flying. We were holding hands, and we had written a "if you find us" note (I have never claimed to NOT be dramatic...). We can laugh about it now, but it was one of the few times --ever-- that I've spent that kind of quality time with Teresa.
Deanna and I were fast friends as children. She is almost six years younger than me, and she clung onto me with all her might as a kid. We hit a rough patch when I left for college, wide-eyed and ready to meet the world head-on. She felt abandoned, and I had no idea...years later, as she was starting her marriage and I was settling into Chicago as my long-term home, we grew closer again. She's my first best friend. I cherish her, and I am so happy that we can still laugh in the rain together.
Teresa and I were constant competitors. She is almost two years younger than me, and she was always held up to a standard by others that I didn't even know I had set...I ached for her to appreciate the things I did as the older sister. I wanted to be friends with her and be able to hang out with her. She wanted little to nothing to do with me. I tried so hard for so very long to develop a relationship with her. I still put forth an effort, but I know I've given up some hope. I love her dearly, but I feel lost when I try to put into words what our relationship is or should be.
I know other sisters who have long-distance friendships, who have strained relationships, who have come back into the lives of each other, who have not spoken in years... I know of sisters in pain because they cannot be together.
Let me tell you something: Nobody is ever going to know you as well as the sister you grew up with. Nobody else is going to know the perfect thing to say to make it all better and to make it all come crashing down. Nobody else will be able to have an entire conversation with you that nobody else can even begin to comprehend, whether it's facial gestures, nonsensical words, or a specific giggle. Nobody else can make you feel like dirt and just as quickly make you feel like the queen of the universe (or co-queen, anyway).
Love your sisters. If you don't have biological sisters, love your sister-friends.
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