Amy Cray

Our house has been in a constant state
of flux for the past few months. I am starting to understand why, now
that it's almost finished.

"Making a
home", in the sense of making a space feel truly inviting, is something
I've always done. For ten years, after my parents divorced, my mother
and I moved from apartment to apartment with little reprieve. We'd
often move every six months. I once added them all, totaling over 25
moves for myself between the ages of 12 and 30. Mostly this was for
financial reasons, but also because my mother (and I) became instantly
unsatisfied the moment our home started to have an inkling of
permanency. I very much enjoyed the process of turning a less than
desirable room (they were likely to have bad paint, cheap metal
windows, oddly framed doors) into something that felt personal. It was
exciting to move into a blank canvas and start to plot my design attack
on each space. I took crafty supplies, spare fabric, whatever random
art and furniture I could find at thrift stores, garage sales and
clearance markets, and made the odd spaces seem brighter. And most of
all, we soothed our change-weary souls by creating something fantastic
out of nothing, with very very little cash. And my wonderful friends
would come and explore each new home with enthusiasm, let me give them
the tour, and invite their friends by too. My memories of teen years
are scattered between 8-10 different homes, but I see large groups of
bright, creative, laughing friends sitting in each one, and I remember
their relaxed and happy energy bringing completion and life to each
space.

Later,
on my own, I was notorious for being able to accommodate large groups
of out of town guests at a moment's notice. We had large dinner parties
for which I would cook five courses. We'd take the entire dining table
out onto the patio in summer, light the space with candles and white
billowing outdoor curtains (fashioned from hemmed thrift-store sheets
and discount hardware) and create a sort of outdoor parlor. I would put
all life on hold for any time with my good friends, and would spend
hours creating the perfect space in which to enjoy their company. Long
conversations lasting into the late night, followed by beds for all
with full sets of linens, pillows. It wasn't plush, living then on a
nanny's salary in San Francisco, but I still had the good coffee in the
morning, enough for everyone in mismatched cups.

These
last few years have been filled with life changes, much more intense
and real than I ever imagined possible. I am so fully dedicated to my
work, my family and home. The synergy that my 20's lacked is here in
full force now, and I feel that every part of my life is moving,
pushing, almost relentless. Tidal waves beating down obstructions along
our journey. But to bring that about took a sacrifice. I needed to
learn how to focus, how to stay on track and not let my creativity take
the lead at any old moment (it is like a tornado at times). And with
that went the extra bedding, the pillows, the miscellaneous coffee cup
collection, and all other representations of stopping my life at a
moment's notice just because someone was in town and wanted dinner.
Eventually the last futon was given away and we bought a real bed. The
thrift store silverware (always enough for 20) was upgraded to matching
set from our wedding registry. My collection of oversize tee shirts,
often given to friends for emergency pajamas, dwindled. I have tried to
learn how to NOT redecorate a room over the weekend. How to let it
develop slowly and organically. I started remodeling rooms for a
living, instead of doing my own homes. I started cheffing events for my
own company, and scaling back the events at home.

The
final piece of this puzzle rests in how to add back in the joy of
friends laughing and sitting in the living room once you've got a three
year-old sleeping upstairs and a meeting the next morning. And how to
let go again, now that focus is a vital part of life, now that focus is
what keeps me alive! My favorite people are scattered across the
country, and though time with them is sacred, it is still hard to
breathe deeply in their company. I have got to relax, leave my
BlackBerry unchecked, and enjoy my time at home.

So
we have redone the living room. We have bought fluffy towels for
guests, soft sheets, and can offer about five different ways to make a
big pot of coffee. The backyard can seat 10, not by putting the dining
table out there, but magically, all on its own. The nastirtium plant
has grown from a seedling, and I am working hard to just patiently,
slowly watch it bloom. I have great glassware for an impromptu party on
hand, and I know how to use it. As with all things, in the end, it is
about balance.