"The best things in life aren't things." - Art Buchwald
I love that quote. I snapped the pic above at a department store and seriously considered purchasing that little plaque.
But I knew it'd just end up in pieces at some point. That's what happens to nice things at our house.
You see, I love the quote because it is universally true. And I love it because it is my truth.
It's heartening to know life's greatest gifts are not material in nature. Because the truth of the matter - my truth, at least - is we can't have things.
We just can't. Our house is where nice things come to die.
Truth:
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| That's not a dog bed. That's a sofa. And yet ... |
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| This is just prior to a random leaping bolt that left everything on the table scattered on the floor. |
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| Why yes, those are clean towels in that basket. |
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| He's not a as camouflaged on that navy bedspread as he thinks he is. |
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| Yes, she's on my vintage dish cabinet. Bonus points if you spotted all the dog food spilled on the floor. |
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| That's a cat's ass where we eat our meals. |
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| Well, it's plastic to begin with, so it's not even that nice, but it's also broken plastic that's been glued in place on the upper right. Repeatedly. |
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| Because we can't seem to grab it by any other spot than the exact place it has been broken before. Snap. Re-glue. Grab. Snap. Glue. Repeat. |
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| Time for mums anyway. |
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| We have a designated spot for grassy, stained, smelly shoes. My front porch - where everyone can see them - is not that spot. And yet ... |
I could post dozens more pics of our grossness, clumsiness and general lack of regard for anything remotely nice. Suffice it to say, it gets real around here. I will spare you photo evidence.
Anyway ... I've mentioned my lack of concern for housekeeping perfection before. That hasn't changed. My house is still clean ... enough. Ish. Kinda.
Eh.
Anyway ... I'm talking about the materials things with which we surround ourselves. I am resigned to not having nice things. I don't even bother trying to obtain nice things. There is no pedigree in my home. I have an Ikea living room suite in sun-faded, cat-clawed slipcovers. My bedspread is a $27 deal from Target circa 2010. My kitchen countertops are laminate. Etc., etc., blah, blah, blah.
This is obviously not a home decor blog.
Maybe that's why I'm drawn to antiques and vintage pieces. I like the dinged, the dented, the cracked, the peeling, the ratty. There's comfort in knowing a piece of furniture has been used over time for holidays, parties and celebrations, as well as those quiet, every days. Use and wear = love and life.
And if my husband slams a vacuum cleaner into the legs of an end table, then there's no harm done to a precious piece because it's not precious anyway... it's just a piece of furniture. Stuff.
And having stuff is not the stuff of happiness.
[And yes, he vacuums. We all vacuum at our house.]
So I choose materials things that can be tossed, recycled, broken, beaten, dinged, scratched, stepped on, ripped, spilled on, wiped, shattered and generally abused because ... well, that's exactly what's going to happen under our roof.
We live here. Really live here.
My mom used to strive for a just-so look and would ultimately be disappointed that the perfection she sought would never last long. She would exclaim in utter exasperation (and with an extra-thick Southern drawl for dramatic effect), "I just can't have nothin' nice!"
She was right.
With pets, kids and spouses all dwelling under one roof - however fancy or humble that roof may be - life is going to happen. And life is messy.
The dog will greet you at the door in utter joy at your very arrival and knock whatever groceries you were trying to carry in all over the place with one exuberant swipe of the tail, causing a full gallon of milk to burst and splash every square inch of your kitchen. And you are going to miss the fact that some of that milk splashed on the rug. And it is going to smell reeeaaallly bad.
Your cat will snuggle next to you at night and leave a fuzzy outline on your bed sheets. And possibly a yacked-up hairball.
Kids playing video games will knock over cans of purple soda and stain your den carpet.
You and your husband will settle in for a Friday night movie on the couch. And tip a paper plate piled with pizza over on the cushion.
You will spill blue nail polish all over your bathroom counter when a cat dashes past you in hot pursuit of a moth.
... not that any of this has ever happened in my house ...
Ahem.
Yes, your home will be filled with family and friends and pets. Chaos will inevitably ensue in one form or another. It always does. Stuff will get in the way. No one will tip-toe around your nice things. You will eventually have to part with nice things because they don't last.
But you don't have to part with the love and laughter. The memory of a life that was well lived ... that's what's going to last, my friends.
And that?
Well, that's a pretty nice thing.
