When I get home from a trip, no matter how amazing, I feel like little Cullen here. I just want to lie down and BE THERE, in my own space, surrounded by my own things. No matter how exhausted, I’m always grateful.
My house is an old one, with lots of vintage style (and of course some pretty modern twists on tradition, too). But when I walk through the front door, still dazed from the rigors of travel, the rooms are ageless, timeless spaces, all soft around the edges and warm. Most times I walk through the entire house as soon as my bags are inside, getting reacquainted and making sure everything is as I remember.
I have a little fantasy that the staff from Downton Abbey has been busily dusting the furniture and removing the slipcovers and unwrapping the chandeliers in preparation for my return, so I’m a little disappointed when this fantasy staff hasn’t left fresh flowers on the table, as well. When I’m home (or even in a hotel room) I like to keep flowers nearby. So I start on that right away.
Believe it or not, getting flowers back in the place is more important than unpacking sometimes. Flowers bring life inside and the house gets re-energized as soon as a few bouquets appear.
I imagine that its energy fades a little whenever it’s empty, so when the family and the flowers come back home, the house breathes easily again, too.