I’ve been trying to do some writing about this thing we call “home” and I keep stalling. I’m blaming it on my couch.
I mean, what right to I have to say anything to anyone about home and beautiful spaces and loveliness when I have the ugliest couch in the world?
I know it’s not my couch’s fault. Poor couch. It can’t help being ugly and old and worn. It can’t help having been sat on and jumped on and napped on and pee’d on for who-knows-how-many years. It can’t help not being fashionable or fancy or pretty.
Okay, okay. I get it.
I need to look beyond the tattered, today. I need to spend some time on my home, and quit fussing about my house.
I need to see the real furnishings, and love them for the gifts they are. I haven’t been doing that very well, lately.