I was humming this to myself last night while I was journaling and I pasted a picture on the page of a sweet little wooden desk situated in front of a window open to a summer day. The desk held a vintage typewriter, a couple of old cameras, a real wind-up alarm clock, and an old trophy pulling duty as a vase for brown-eyed Susans.
The picture of that little desk just delighted me and made me think about how everyone, teenager or middle-aged grandmother, should have a space that is totally their own...one that speaks to their soul and inspires their muse...and I realized that I've created just that in my now empty nest.
My space began it's life as my son's bedroom and then became my daughter's. My son left home in 2005. Nothing of him remains in the room, but memories. My daughter, however, has left her stamp. The beautiful pine paneling on the walls was her requested gift the next-to-last Christmas she spent at home. My hubby was installing it when we got the call on the morning of New Year's Eve that his brother had passed away. My daughter is also here in the florescent orange paint that still covers the interior of the closet, the checked red and beige homespun curtains that replaced the closet doors, and in the door that is still covered with stickers and notes written by friends in permanent Sharpie ink.
There was no discussion. When my daughter moved out I made the room mine. The orange closet is stacked full with picnic coolers, luggage, and all my craft and gift wrapping supplies. Between the closet and the door is an old milk can painted a soft mint green and decoupaged with some very 70s style chickens and flowers. My grandparents made it for my aunt way back when. It is filled with a collection of canes, walking sticks, yardsticks, a rain stick, and even a pool cue long ago abandoned by my son.
Four bookshelves cover most of the wall space. No matter how hard I try to keep the collection down, they are always filled with stacks piled up. There are also sentimental items on them like the crocodile in a hammock my daughter brought back from Australia, the stooped old woman carved from a cow horn my dad brought back from Peru, a service bell from a long-forgotten hotel, and a hand knit prayer scarf made by a friend.
Tucked in by the bookshelves is my great-grandmother's dough box. Family photos, plants in vintage planters, and a warmer for wax tarts sit on top. A beautiful keepsake box and a footstool made by my grandfather's brother in a long ago shop class rest underneath.
On the walls you will find a numbered print commemorating the 2013 Pony Penning Day on Chincoteague Island, VA...the year I finally got to see it. There is also a framed poster from the Chincoteague firemen's carnival and a little rustic garland that bears the message "Live with faith. Laugh with friends. Love with family." A funny little monkey given to me by the kids on the bus hangs from a hook on the ceiling.
Lastly, sitting at an angle by the window is my desk. It's a sweet little thing that I picked up battered and wobbly for $7 at an auction. It has fine lines, beautiful bones...my hubby secured the legs and put several coats of stain on it to "mostly" cover years of abuse. It's perfect to do a bible study on, write in my journal, type on the laptop or do minor crafting. All that is on it is a lovely desk lamp found at a rummage sale for $5 and a chunky glass vase turned into a pen holder. I paired an old chair, another auction find, with it and sitting in front is a big, brown, storage ottoman with a padded lid. It's good extra seating for visitors or a sweet nap place for my Poodle.
This my space, filled with my things...and a few ghosts from the past. It centers me and fuels me. Calms me and inspires me. If you want to know who I am, this is where you start looking.
So, tell me. What does your space look like? Is it a whole room or just a certain spot? What makes it your refuge?
*NOTE: THE PICTURES ARE FROM LAST SUMMER AND A FEW THINGS HAVE CHANGED, BUT YOU CAN GET THE IDEA FROM THEM.