It’s an obsession! I need my home to pack a wow! I always have. But it wasn’t until I was in my 50s that I had the means to make it so. And even then, having amassed the funds required, how would I get there given I lacked interior design training and possessed little artistic talent? It seemed the dream would always remain just that…a dream.
Still, I was determined to try.
My husband Sam and I began watching HGTV home improvement programs around the year 2000. Sam watched strictly for the entertainment value. I took in every detail with an eye toward attempting to learn interior design basics.
At first, the gorgeous reveals unveiled perfect rooms with what seemed like cryptic commonalities. I had no clue what made them so stunning.
I noted color palettes, textures, style combinations and architectural features. But as to what made them work so beautifully, I remained clueless.
Over time, however, the seeming chaos of the successful design plans began to make sense. An HGTV show host would offer a tip about colors working together to create various moods. Another might talk about a pre-renovation design mistake the homeowners had made. Still another discussed the effect of a monochromatic versus a high contrast palette, and the impact of pops of color in the right places. It took years, but these bits of information finally came together to fill me with enough knowledge to avoid most of the costliest mistakes.
We remodeled our 1941 minimal traditional home in Long Beach, California. With just a handful of details I would change if I had to do the renovation over again, the house turned out exceptional. Don’t take my word for it. Everyone who entered swooned.
The Long Beach house turned out to be the guinea pig, the trial run for our custom-built retirement home in Prescott, Arizona. Don’t get me wrong. I agonized over every detail as no professional designer would ever have to do. But the result was almost total success.
So did having a beautiful home turn out to be the be all and end all, now that I’d accomplished it? In a word, yes.
Writing for the Hayes Hall Gazette of Ohio State University, Calvin Dolatowski says, “While so much of our life is out of our control, our home is a place we have total jurisdiction over. …the way you furnish your home, paint your walls, and arrange your belongings will all have significant impacts on your sense of security and well-being.”
Exactly.
A kind of corollary to the notion of proper interior design addresses the topic of clutter, which is something I cannot abide in my own home.
An unattributed article on betterhelp.com states, “Research shows homes that feel cluttered or unfinished may lead to depressed mood and higher levels of cortisol, which is often known or referred to as a primary stress hormone.”
I guess that explains my reaction to spaces housing too much stuff.
I pinch myself daily over the aesthetically pleasing surroundings I wake up to each morning. And having lost Sam to cancer only 2-1/2 years after moving in to the Prescott house, my home’s aesthetics, created out of my heart and soul’s fondest desires, have helped to ease my grief. My home environment is ideal. For me.
I’ll admit it could be a control issue. Maybe I’m even somewhere in the high-functioning section of the autism spectrum. All I know is, my home is my sanctuary, and every day being there and seeing its beauty does my heart and soul a world of good.
It’s an obsession! I need my home to pack a wow! I always have. But it wasn’t until I was in my 50s that I had the means to make it so. And even then, having amassed the funds required, how would I get there given I lacked interior design training and possessed little artistic talent? It seemed the dream would always remain just that…a dream.
I’ve played violin since age 7, and performing in orchestras, chamber groups and quartets has enriched my life immeasurably. I count my lucky stars that when we were kids, my cousin Judy, four years my senior and whom I worshipped, took up the violin. I had to do everything Judy did, so of course I begged my parents for violin lessons. Judy only played for a year, and I stayed for the rest of my life.
My dad was not one to dole out insightful advice. Indeed, he was far more likely to grab any opportunity to mindlessly, and tongue-in-cheek, offer up his favorite old standby: “Suffering is good for the character!”
