In A Little Corner
Wednesday, December 16th, 2009My laundry room has always been a challenge. Well, let’s be honest. This whole, old house has always been a challenge. Yes, old houses have charm, but they also have bumps and dings, and evidence of remodels and permanent cosmetic fixtures that people thought were pretty in the 70s. And when you are young and newly married and you feel like everything should be new, it’s not necessarily the most attractive project to try and take on, depending on what you thought you wanted.
I used to try and make this house into something it was not; like putting a new patch on an old garment. Things only looked worse. Then one day I decided to just go old. I began to hunt for things at the thrift stores that looked like they came out of a house as old as mine. I began to find old things that I actually used and loved using, like old coffee grinders and antique kitchen utensils. Things began to look natural, even if they didn’t look new and modern.
I found that home began to feel like home.

Last night in the dim light of about 10 p.m., I stood in my laundry room working on some things. I looked at the little corner in my laundry room that has become my little corner to look at when I sort clothes.
I love the picture of the three children in bed, all smiles and happy, and I know that it was never new or old or any type of decor that made this house a home to my children. It was being tucked in and reading bedtimes stories. It was meals around the table as a family. That’s what made my children all smiles and happy.
I look at the milk-glass lamp with the yellow and red toile shade and admire the soft light it casts on the pictures. The old, framed needleworks, hidden behind dirty glass when I found them, cleaned up really well, and I think of the day I spent with my mom, finding these treasures for 25 cents each at the Habitat for Humanity ReStore. How old are they? Whose hands stitched them? I’m glad they now call my home their home. The tin lithograph was a thrift store find as well.
Next to the lamp, on a doily my husband’s grandmother made, sits a picture of a very sweet friend. I miss her so much. One day last summer, with a terrible headache, she lay down for a nap. Later, her children could not wake her up. She was buried that week. I think of her while I’m doing laundry and I’m thankful that I am here to do laundry at all.
After all, it’s the little, mundane household chores (done with joy, of course) that make a house a home. I want to delight in my work here at home. I want to never forget that it’s my job to serve with joy.





























































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