Needlepoint by my friend Erin
I loved our first house so much. I loved the leopard carpet, and the gold hinges, and the stone wall in the yard. The strange Greek myth wallpaper and the attic bookshelf. Mostly I loved that it was our first house.
When I started looking at places out here, I sort of resigned myself to the fact that we wouldn’t find anything as sweet and charming or special as our little Tarrytown colonial; houses out here tend to be more of the all-one-level popcorn-ceiling ranch-style variety (until you get into the hills, when they become ridiculously gorgeous rustic cabin-type places, but are also, like, three million dollars per bedroom). I knew I’d love wherever we ended up, but I figured I’d love it because…I don’t know, because of what we put into it. Not because of the house itself.
Wrong.
First of all, any place that has a bathtub that is not located in the basement with terrifying jumping tarantulas is a win by me. But it’s been so much fun, discovering all the little oddities about our place that I had no idea about before we got here, all those weird little things that make a house feel like a home. It’s hard, leaving a place that you care about; it feels like a loss, like you’re saying goodbye to the memories you made and the memories still to come. And it’s so cool to discover that you can fall in love all over again, when you didn’t even expect it.
These are Inferno peppers. In my garden. I’m not going to eat them (that’s Kendrick’s job) but how freakin cool is this?! (The previous owners were apparently master gardeners, and so my goal now is to try not to destroy what clearly amounts to decades of work.)
Honestly, deer heads really should always go above fireplaces.
Look! Alice came with us.
Virgil spent the past three years of his life slowly destroying our couch cushions because the couch was positioned under the window that he was desperate to vault out of 100% of the time, so it was time for a replacement pair. (Left; right.)
Which brings me to my absolute, hands-down favorite thing about this house: my dog, when he sees a person walk by who must die (which is everyone), can’t reach the window, and gives up, and the result of this is silence.
God I love it.
