Late Sunday morning was so nice. I had to run an errand, and though it would take me nowhere near our downtown, I asked the Mister if he would mind if I left him with the (sick) boys while I walked around and looked at antiques. He just rolled his eyes and said, “Please. You don’t have to ask. Go and have fun. Just don’t do anything crazy, like shabby chic.”
I pointed out that I don’t like shabby chic interiors so it wasn’t a risk. He then claimed I once sent him an email with a picture of a thrifted dresser spray-painted and made to look “chippy.” Men remember the oddest things. “Don’t forget to buy blue cheese” goes in one ear and out the other, but an email from several years ago about a white dresser? That gets burned into the brain.
I walked around all my favorite shops–not one carrying Rachel Ashwell–and had such a wonderful time by myself. I’m normally with the boys, or on rare occasions, friends. It can be hard to shop with children, of course, but the same can be said of shopping with friends. It was nice to linger at my own pace, speaking to no one, and hover over displays I loved without worrying about dawdling or keeping someone else entertained.
When I went to Campy Mighty, Nicole and I later went shopping on the furniture strip in Palm Springs. We went into one store that had the most amazing candle burning. I would have bought one, but the store that carried them was closed on Sundays. I haven’t been able to find a candle I like as much since, though a part of me worries that the memory of this candle exceeds the reality. I was pretty excited about the Flora Exotica candle, above, with its alluring packaging of black and gold and floral, but no. It’s scent is primarily honeysuckle, a smell I loathe. And so the memory of the Palm Springs candle glows brightly. To my husband: the only way I could have been less subtle is if I had I printed out this post, wrapped it around an anvil, and dropped it on your head from a second story window. Mother’s Day is in May.
The takeaway from my window shopping, aside from honeysuckle and lilac remaining my least favorite scents, is that our home lacks vignetting. You walk into some of these stores, and you are pulled in by the most interesting displays. They unfold as if the store houses characters in a book. In this corner lives Ruth, who likes to read cookbooks in bed, prefers her hand soap to smell like rosemary, and collects crockery–always in cream. Magda is agnostic but adores religious folk art, Santos dolls, and lights a Saint Jude veladora before her weekend meditations because (1) it reminds her of her grandmother and (2) sometimes she feels her love life is a bit of a desperate case. Across the aisle stands Jane. She likes bright, pure colors (all of them), cooks semi-homemade, and throws the best parties because she never tries to make everything perfect.
It hit me, in that big store full of characters I would like to meet, that decorating is just another form of storytelling.
Love this … “decorating is just another form of storytelling.”
I don’t know why it took me 12 years to figure that out. I’m not a decorator or designer, so that’s probably why. I just don’t think with that side of my brain.
It’s so true! I imainge that’s why I love to peruse such wares–especially antiques! Not only for the stories they hint as you pass by–places you’d go, people you’d meet, things you’d do if only you’d have them in your care–but stories whispered from their past. . .
Exactly! When I see a cupboard from 1910 I can’t help but wonder who bought it, why, where. Amanda of Soule Mama just did a similar post on this subject today, which is far better than mine, by the way. You can read it here.
I would love to go shopping with you (you could linger however much you wanted) so you could tell me these stories! I do hope when people come to our house (which isn’t often as I have a strong fear of having company) that they learn something about us as soon as they walk in.
That is the whole point of what I do every Thursday. I didn’t say that in the post because I don’t want to sound like a broken record! But, yes, that’s my hope. That by the end of the year our home looks absolutely like us.
I love your line that decorating is story telling! I am much older than you (my two boys are grown) but I live in a house of stories. Lots of original art (all with their own stories and most from travels), small collections (silver trophy cups and silver cream pitchers) displayed in groupings, functional items (pottery bowls) out on display, and lots of glass-fronted book shelves with family treasures tucked in here and there to break up the monotony of all books. No clutter but visitors definitely get a sense of who we are vs. feeling like they’ve wandered into a Crate n’ Barrel showroom. Enjoying your Wm. Morris series and hope it rubs off on all your lurkers!
Thanks, Cynthia! I was so inspired after window shopping that I went home and changed some stuff around, put some family treasures (rocks from walks, pictures, etc.) on display, and all around felt really good about our home.
Ha, I was also thinking about writing a hint-hint post to my husband. You are lucky, Riverside has such a fantastic amount of antique malls and cute shops in your downtown area. Jealous. We have our “Old Town” tourist area, but our antique shops have way too much fussy, reproduction county-clutter junk.
Your Old Town is so pretty! I’ve been there once or twice and loved it.
I love this perspective! Now I’m curious about the story my home tells. I may be looking at it with fresh eyes when I get home tonight.
I swear, you will! That’s exactly what I did when I went home!
p.s. Pretty profile pic. :)
If your home ends up telling stories half as good as the ones you write, it will be pretty amazing.
I am totally with you on the honeysuckle and lilac scents (another no go is the scent of lilies). My father-in-law came to visit over the holidays, which is always an opportunity to have some must haves brought along. In my case that would be Mrs. Meyers dish washing liquid and hand soap. I gave him a list of acceptable scents and he brings honeysuckle. Blurg.
To me, honeysuckle smells like bug spray. I don’t know if it’s because we had a can of lilac-smelling bug spray as a kid, or if it really and truly smells like bug spray, but to me the scents are inseparable. What I need to do is smell an honest to goodness honeysuckle bush. They don’t grow around here, so I’ve never smelled one in real life!
I use Mrs. Meyers (I like the basil scent) and I had no idea she had a honeysuckle scent. Gag.
I love these pictures.
Thank you, Alice! I really like them, too. I can’t believe I waited so long to get an iPhone.
Another great post Jules! I totally understand about having a little time to yourself to have a wander. I love my boobear, but those few times I have to myself are so precious.
I came home so relaxed and in such a good mood. It completely changed the tenor of the home. When mama is happy, everyone is happy.
Right now in Vancouver the Sarcoccoca (Himalayan Sweet Box) is blossoming. I don’t know why so many people choose to plant it. To me it smells like the hospital…like formaldehyde…like death (sorry for the relation there), it is the most awful scent. AND definitely not the scent that I want associated with our home! Scent imbibes memory – it can be such a strong relationship, at times overwhelming.
Decorating as storytelling. Lovely. As too are those rare moments to wander alone – whether on a walk or meandering through a shop. It is so great to have a little time to yourself.
“decorating is just another form of storytelling”… SO brilliant — that strikes such a chord with me — I love stories, I love decorating and yet I have never before viewed those two concepts as being intertwined really….THANK YOU!
I LOVE these pictures Jules! Also that hint to the husband totally made me laugh.
Before I clicked on the link for the candle, I said “I bet it’s a Nest” and sure enough! They have the best candles, hands down. My favorite is the grapefruit one – clean and fresh and everyone who walks into my house comments how great it smells. I’ll have to give the holiday one a try. I bet it’s great.