“What do you want to be when you grow up?”  “I want to be a mommy, and a housewife, a teacher, a nurse, a veterinarian, a singer, a dancer, a model, a nun, a fashion designer, an interior designer, a writer, and live in the country.”  That was always my response growing up.  I would rattle off at least five starting with a mommy, a housewife, a teacher, a writer, and then one of the others.  I have never answered with just one job.  And I never will!  I guess being an herbalist kind of combined the nurse and vet.  Teaching herbalist classes and dance classes covers the teaching.  Karaoke every Saturday gives me my diva fix.  The nun thing didn’t work out though I still think it would be have been wonderful.  I paint pictures of them instead.  I am a writer.  I shared with you my fashion designing and now I’d like to share my interior designing.

Home is where the heart is, someone said, and it is also the place where family gathers, we rest, we dream, we work, we refuel.  It is a direct reflection of our soul.  No matter how big or small the house may be, it speaks of you.  You can use your home to help you achieve your dreams by setting up a space where it can be a mirror of what you love and aspire to.  It can inspire and comfort.  Your emotions will be notably different in a messy place as opposed to a clean place.  Too clean of a place can make one uncomfortable.  Colors can bring out aspirations and create calm or passion.  Items can invoke good memories or clutter.

This is my house.  It is not really my house.  I rent it from a lovely older couple who could no longer live here.  It is almost a hundred years old and speaks of remodels and old bones.  Of flood survivals and pioneers selling their water rights.  Of old gardens and housewives.  Of ancient chickens and attempted fruit trees.  Of laughter and hope.  It feels good here.  The color was a dirty lime in the living room.  It did nothing for my happy levels.  I painted it peach.  I sat there crying, for it was so bright in the lit up room that I couldn’t function.  It is now cinnamon.  Lush and comforting.  Not too bright when the sun bathes the room, and very romantic and secure when the candle light dances around the corners in the evenings.

We realized we were re painting over wall paper, which seems such a shame.  In Emily’s room we discovered a chimney that had been painted over and in a top built-in cupboard sparkled the original wallpaper.  Pink, gold swirls, elegant.  Who’s room was that?  It’s about to be home to Emily and a little one next month and so another occupant puts their imprint on the space.  Touching it with memories and dreams.

This is not my homestead but I have filled it as if it is.  For, even on my own homestead, my stay may be brief, or natural disaster could seize, or any number of things could happen.  So, I feel that while we are here, it is ours.  My love is New Mexico.  Deep in my soul, I belong there but may never live there.  The colors, the food, the history, the architecture all sings to me.  Lulls me.  I am saddened if I think too long on it so I have turned the living room into Santa Fe North.  Pieces I picked up in Santa Fe or from my friend, Marco, at his shop Camino Real for not many pesos.  Craig’s List finds and antique stores along with Doug’s grandma’s fabulous table that seats around sixteen fit perfectly in the space.  Nothing cost me over $200 except the piano.

The living room still holds its farmhouse flair and the other rooms maintain their farmhouse dress as well.  Simplicity is now pulsing through my veins and a great many truck loads of items went to charity as more pile up in the garage in my attempts to only have what brings me supreme joy.  The paintings are all my own work and I love them for their stories they tell so that I can remain silent.  I do not love overhead lights, in fact I scream as if I were a vampire and turn the lights off throughout the house should they be on.  Twinkly lights frequent the space long after Santa is gone.  Candles and oil lamps and bright sunny windows do the rest.  Pictures of vintage farm posters.  I adore these.  I will have a farm.

What do I want to be when I grow up now?  A mom, a housewife, a grandma, a college professor, a writer, and a farmer.  May we always have a home to come home to filled with love, inspiration, and laughter.