There is no question that I love stuff. I love my stuff, and I love collecting. I have now for 40 years. And I have a lot of stuff and do not regret any antiques and collectibles purchase that I have made. And I use my stuff. That's part of the fun of having it. I look back at the hours I spent growing up and going to houses and just looking at the stuff. Aunt Sara's house, Aunt Billie's house, Grandmother's etc. And our home on Brookgreen Drive as well. I would occupy myself for hours, sometimes days, just going through the stuff because I thought it interesting. And it was. I would learn the history behind things and document it either in my mind or on paper. I still do that.
But as I grow older, I am realizing a big difference in my house and theirs. Now, I am not going to say this because it is a bad reflection on myself, but it is more of a starting point. The difference to me is that their houses were truly homes. Mine's still just a house. Those houses were filled with memories of people and occasions and daily life. While I have some of those things as well, it is not the same yet. Their homes were comfortable, and people often just visited for no reason other than to just visit. That doesn't happen anymore much these days. I would like to see that change. While, yes, I do have birthday parties and Sunday dinners here occasionally, I want my house to be a place people want to come and just be. A place where people are comfortable just sitting and talking if nothing else. A place that I can share my stuff with them. It may not make sense how I'm articulating this, but it definitely makes sense in my mind.
Bottom line, I want my house to be more of a home. It takes many things to make a home, and I am working on that, one piece at a time. Stop by sometime and sit a spell and visit! That is all.