by Margaret Bishop<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For many years, I thought I knew what made a house a home. It\u2019s why my husband and I agonized over decisions like whether to install granite or quartz countertops in our kitchen. It\u2019s why we would get samples of paint from our local Sherwin-Williams and paint small sections of the wall in order to choose the \u201cperfect\u201d color. I imagined that if only I could find the right piece of artwork or arrange my mantlepiece just so, our house would be transformed. I\u2019ve looked at enough designer magazines and Pinterest boards to know that every home should have a certain aesthetic in order to \u201cfeel\u201d like home. I guess I believed that what made a house a home was having a clear sense of personal style – an area of life in which I have decidedly little interest or skill. Because of that lacking, I always felt that our house was just one project or purchase away from reaching that imaginary elusive status of being \u201cdone.\u201d Side note – we have lived in our house for over 22 years!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But as I enter my empty nest era and begin to consider options like downsizing, moving to a new town, etc., I find that I have very little hesitation about leaving behind the carefully chosen kitchen countertops or paint colors. It\u2019s the doorframe in the laundry room with years of height measurements spanning 20 years of childhood that give me pause. It\u2019s the trees we planted in honor of our children\u2019s births as gifts from a thoughtful relative. It\u2019s the mismatched pane of glass on the back door that was mysteriously shattered when my daughter and her middle school friends were home \u201cstudying\u201d together. It\u2019s the backyard basketball court where endless games of HORSE were played, tears were shed in heated sibling rivalry, and dunks were attempted on a regular basis by a rotating cast of adolescent boys. Oh, the joys of having a basketball goal that can be lowered and raised!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The d\u00e9cor of a house sets the stage for a life well-lived, but the people in the house give the life the meaning. The older I get, the more I realize that home isn\u2019t an object but rather it\u2019s a feeling, a sense of connection and belonging between people who love and care for one another. Paint colors and artwork may become treasured because of the precious memories associated with them but really, it\u2019s all about the people and the moments that were shared in their presence. A house may be tastefully curated, designed with only the best appliances and fixtures that money can buy and yet never evoke that mystical sense of \u201chome\u201d that makes a heart yearn to return again and again. Home feels safe. Home feels warm. A house is just a house until people make it a home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I don\u2019t know what path my life will take in the years ahead. Maybe our house will be sold to new owners who will make new memories of their own. Our house will become their home, and a new house will become ours. Maybe we will remain and entertain grandchildren with games of HORSE and volleyball. A few new names might even be added to the doorframe over the coming years. The future is unpredictable, unknown and full of possibilities. Whatever it may bring, I can attest that the three little handprints hurriedly pressed down into drying cement in the backyard are of far greater worth to me now than the kitchen countertops ever will be. One choice was made spur of the moment with little thought, the other choice was agonized over, carefully chosen after viewing endless samples, but we all know which choice evokes a sense of home in my heart. People are what make a house a home, and thankfully, treasured memories with the people you love don\u2019t need four walls to hold them. You can do that with or without your house. Home is in your heart.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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