I have many dream homes in my head. Which dream home it is depends where it would be built.
In the mountains- a log cabin. Timbered on the inside with majestic, soaring open-beamed ceilings and huge windows. About six bedrooms suites, each with a fireplace. A library with a cozy reading corner. Wide-planked floors. Color scheme? Black and white with touches of red. A huge stone fireplace. Lots of soft comfy furniture with fake fur throws everywhere. A rustic kitchen with lots of pottery. Earthenware dishes.
By the lake it would be a cottage, a big one though. Stone on the outside. Two stories. Lots of nooks and crannies. White-shabby chic furnishings. Ball-fringe pillows. Hardwood floors. Pale blue-green accents. Lots of chintz and patterns. A library. A boathouse.
In the country-an old farmhouse with a porch on all sides. Antique furniture. Mis-matched dishes. Walk-in pantry. Again, a library. Crocks and pottery. Fluffy comforters on the beds. Gazebos and arbors everywhere. A country garden behind a white picket fence. Meandering paths through the woods ending at a bubbling brook. Big trees I could climb on to sit and read.
In the city-a loft in an industrial building with obscenely high ceilings. All chrome and glass but patterned overstuffed furniture and soft window treatments. An elevator that opens into the loft. Huge windows. A library in one corner. Only one big room with dividers that can be moved. Huge abstract paintings.
Gosh, I didn’t know I had such details in place. Looks like I’ve been planning these homes all my life. But the physical space doesn’t matter that much anyway. What matters is that I would want each home to be filled with laughter and love. I would want to share my home not just with family and friends but with strangers who needed to be surrounded by beauty for a while.
Big, beautiful homes should always be shared. Houses were never meant to be museums.