Stormy sky driving from Santa Barbara to Santa Ynez Saturday, March 18, 2006.

This past weekend we started packing up our beloved Solvang home, getting ready for a marathon move of two homes into one in early April.  Our initial plan was to move most of our belongings into the new house and put some furniture into storage.  As we talked about this more over the weekend, we began a discussion of forgetting the storage route and selling or donating any furniture we can’t use in the new house.  Up until the moment that particular topic came up I had been feeling fine about moving, leaving Solvang and having to get settled again for the fourth time in 19 months.  Once I had to start thinking about getting rid of a good deal of furniture, I got instantly overwhelmed, sentimental and emotional, as if a jack in the box suddenly popped up and screamed, "SURPRISE!  You’re actually freaking out about all of this!"

I have to laugh as I write this, because it is hilarious to me that I continue to be startled by certain emotions that are always with me.  I pride myself on not being attached to material objects (we donated four truckloads full of belongings to the Solvang thrift store over the weekend), so I know I wasn’t getting upset over the actual objects, but I think they came to symbolize our life in Solvang without my realizing it.  Because of this, the thought of letting this furniture go – some of which we bought less than a year ago – quickly got under my skin.  I think it is a bit dramatic to say I’m really freaking out about moving, but this episode did make me realize there is still some sadness I am going to have to face when I’m sitting in our empty Solvang house in just a few short weeks.

On the drive back to LA Sunday, I explored the question of "What makes a home?"  Whenever I am in a friend’s house, especially if it is my first time visiting, I love exploring – seeing the books on the shelves, the pictures, looking at art on the walls, and even mundane items such as vitamins on a kitchen counter.  I love doing this because it gives me a glimpse into the owner’s life.  To me, a home is a reflection of whoever is living there, so I suppose my getting upset about letting go of some of the furniture wasn’t all too surprising.  These objects created an environment that I considered to be a reflection of me, my fiancee, our partnership and our life.  All of the furniture is totally replaceable, but the memories behind them have shaped them into something much more valuable in my mind and in my heart.  Isn’t it funny how much meaning and significance can be attributed to a simply Pottery Barn dining room table?

I am a professional home-maker.  After 30+ moves in my life, I have the routine down pat.  As much as I know I am a gypsy, I still find myself longing for a space that I can call home for more than five years, which is the longest time I’ve ever lived in one place.  I don’t know if the home we’re about to move into will be that place, but I do know I will do whatever I can to make it uniquely our own for the time we are there.  Right now this means having to let go of many of the items that served us well in Solvang so I can create room for a new kind of space in Los Angeles.  What will make our new house a home isn’t just the furniture, the rugs or the change of address forms.  This house will evolve into our home over time – through dinner parties, quiet nights in front of the fire, new works of art created in my studio, deep sleeps in our bedroom and much, much laughter.  I know deep down that home is simply wherever I am with my love, but to a certain extent it is also about the objects we place in our dwelling, for these objects enable us to create the memories that give a house life.  These objects are simply tools in creating a life we feel passionate about every single day.

"Old homes! old hearts! Upon my soul forever Their peace and gladness lie like tears and laughter."  -Madison Julius Cawein