House of Vignettes

I stayed at my aunt’s house the weekend of my brother’s wedding. It’s a very pleasant place to be. It’s warm, comfortable and inviting. I’ve always enjoyed her house. I have fond memories from childhood in the same rooms I put my boys to sleep that weekend and the snow that fell on us Friday night and Saturday only stirred up more memories I thought had been long forgotten.

As I looked out of one of the upstairs bedroom windows and saw the perspective from the house of the snow covered farm road leading to the highway beyond I remembered kneeling at that very window waiting anxiously for my parents to arrive at a family gathering. I was probably 8 or 9 years old and my sisters and I and several other family members had spent the night with my aunt and uncle and their girls the night before. My parents were the last ones to arrive for the full family event. They also had the furthest to drive and the wind and snow had picked up viciously. I was worried. All of the aunts and my grandmother were busy downstairs with dinner preparations, my cousins were playing all over the house, but I was perched alone in that window, hoping no one would find me and see the fear I felt. I didn’t want them to know I worried, but neither did I want them to try to tell me it would be okay and expect that to draw me away from my vigil. I was quite content with my troubles and finally let them go when I saw the red Mercury turn off of the highway and approach the house with snow blowing wildly behind it. Only in my relief did the tears come and because I was alone I had the freedom to let them fall and the peace to wipe them away and run downstairs to non-nonchalantly greet my parents and mix myself into the noise.

So many memories like that played in my head as I watched the boys enjoying the same peaceful atmosphere that had often drawn me in. It’s an old house full of funny wiring, crooked lines and low ceilings, but you barely notice those things for the soft colors, warm lighting and the inviting corners. Everywhere you look there is a cozy place to be still and enjoy a book and a warm cup of coffee.

It is a house of vignettes.

Little pictures that tell a larger story and invite you to rest while they fascinate you with your own imagination.

I recognize that it isn’t the house itself that makes it so homey. I admire so much, my aunt and cousin still at home, who have delighted in charming details and tasteful touches. I loved the wealth of homemade comforts offered to us around the table from the time we entered to the last goodbye. There was even a goody bag packed up for little appetites to enjoy on a long drive to Tennessee.

I decided to try to take in a few of those stories and touches, and post them here for you to enjoy as well. I could not take it all into such a medium as a camera, and I am no expert at holding the devise straight, but I hope you will enjoy what I did with these attempts at capturing a peaceful setting.