Perfectly Imperfect

I have a 20-year-old Krups coffee pot that I love. It leaks. The temporary floor we installed in my large kitchen is still here after 18 years. The carpet throughout the house is worn from the comings and goings of everyday living. Doors are scratched from eager dogs wanting in or out. This is my home.

When someone remarks that I must live in a beautiful house, I cringe. It is beautiful – to me. But, it is far from perfect. I’ve been in those perfect houses and I leave them wondering about the people who live in them. I wonder if they ever put their feet up on the coffee table after a long day at work. I wonder if they eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in bed while they watch late night television. I wonder if they ever have pillow fights with their children or splatter flour all over the oven while they make cookies. I wonder if their kitchen floor ever sees a drop of water after they dance outdoors in the rain.

Homes are so much more than cherry wood cabinets and rainwater showers. Homes are where ritual and tradition live and breathe - a place where character and values are molded. It’s where I find solace, refuge, understanding, love, and acceptance. It’s a place I can’t wait to get back to. And even dreaming about replacing the floor and mending the scratched wood doesn’t change the fact that I love my home.

I look at the markings on my kitchen table and I’m reminded of the countless times my children spent sitting at that table doing their homework, making dents in the soft, pine wood. I use to be able to make out whole sentences, but every now and again I’ll find a few words among the scribbles. It has everything I could ever want and more.

Home is filled with memories.

And all of them are perfect.

Images scanned from Country Living magazine