Chapter 11

Remember

Make Yourself at Home

To us, our house was not unsentient matter—it had a heart, and a soul, and eyes to see us with; and approvals, and solicitudes, and deep sympathies; it was of us, and we were in its confidence, and lived in its grace and in the peace of its benediction. We never came home from an absence that its face did not light up and speak out its eloquent welcome—and we could not enter it unmoved.

—Mark Twain

As kids, lots of us draw a house as a square with a triangle roof, a rectangular door, and square windows (plus maybe a circle sun and some green grass lines scattered about). But few homes actually look like that. People live in all kinds of places: apartments, condos, townhomes, tiny houses, big houses, mansions, tents, RVs, houseboats, sailboats, and many more types of dwellings all over the world. You can lay your head pretty much anywhere. (As a kid, I was certain a pillow fort was all I needed.)

This book’s title, House Love: A Joyful Guide to Cleaning, Organizing, and Loving the Home You’re In, was chosen deliberately. A house, in whatever form it takes, is what you live in. But add love and you’ve suddenly got a home.

Imagine it’s moving day and you haul your things, your boxes, and your bags into those empty spaces, all new to you. By introducing items that reflect your interests, hobbies, and passions, you transform those empty spaces, over time, into your house. Then add care for those things you love, those spaces you live in, and, most especially, those people (and pets) there (whether they live with you day in and day out or just visit)—and one day, it’s not just your house but your home.

I hope by now, as we wrap things up, you’ve found a handful (or maybe even dozens) of ways to show love to your spaces. Like I said, anyplace can be home. The important thing—even if you aspire to a bigger, better, or different home someday—is to love the one you’re presently in, just like the book’s subtitle says.

Ross and I had been living in our current house for over a year when we decided to throw a New Year’s Day party. By then, we’d painted our vestibule a vivid orange, carpeted our stairs, selected furniture that—by design—could transform our entryway into a dining room whenever needed, and given our living room and den a sparkly nighttime vibe. We’d hung our favorite art, outfitted our bedrooms, and remodeled our bathroom. The construction dust was long gone and the moving boxes had been nicely recycled or shared with friends who were also moving. We were ready for a party.

I’d just spent the holidays with my family in Kentucky, and I returned eager to share foods and recipes from home with friends and family. That’s where we found our theme: Our entire shindig’s spread was Southern, including appetizers like Tennessee Sin (a cheesy dip whose name is on point—see here for the recipe), butternut squash dip, pimento cheese, and plenty of breads and crackers, plus festive libations.

As our house filled up with people from all areas of our lives, I realized that our house worked: Our elegant kitchen was the perfect place to serve guests as we pulled hot pans of country ham and sausage balls out of the oven and placed them on the countertops. Our friends and family were able to move effortlessly from kitchen to living room to den, plus upstairs and downstairs, delightedly touring our new house and enjoying all the things we’d filled it with, including holiday decorations virtually everywhere they looked.

Everyone seemed happy and at ease, hanging out on the landing, chatting with friends in the living room and den, or taking seats in our dining room/entryway to enjoy slices of red velvet cake.

As the open house wound down well into the evening, I walked each guest to the front door, sharing a last laugh or a quick hug. And when I closed the door for the final time that night, I knew: I was home.