In With the Old
An update on our work-in-progress house and the pieces I love most. (Plus, a giveaway of Cleo Wade’s new book!)
I spent a lot of time thinking about my home this week as I’ve been stuck here with Covid, likely picked up in my travels to my cousin’s funeral earlier this month. The forced slowdown was not necessarily welcome but one I embraced. October, which brings with it the anniversary of my mom’s death, is a month laced with grief for me. Add to that the horrific news out of the Middle East; my heart is broken for the Israeli and Palestinian lives lost, the Israeli hostages, the growing humanitarian crisis in Gaza, the rise in antisemitism. The anguish, pain, and anger felt around the world right now is devastating.
My newsletter last Friday had three things to help with heavy times. Another suggestion for that list: Cleo Wade’s newest book, released this week, called Remember Love: Words for Tender Times.
I was so excited to attend Cleo’s gathering in Pasadena, where she was interviewed by Shiona Turini, stylist extraordinaire for Beyoncé’s Renaissance World Tour. During the Q&A, someone asked what affirmations both women tell themselves each morning to tackle the day and the challenges ahead. Cleo’s answer really stuck with me, reflecting on ways to “answer the world with tenderness instead of strength.”
I’ve been ruminating on the idea of tenderness as I shuffle through my house this week. What shapes does tenderness take in our lives? A phone call from my sister helped me put a finer point on it — more thoughts below.
***UPDATE / Giveaway now closed*** But first! I would love to send five copies of Remember Love to SMT readers in the U.S. To enter this giveaway, please leave a comment on this newsletter (it can be as simple as a single emoji) by Sunday, Oct. 22 at 3pm PT. I’ll pick the recipients at random and be in touch via email. Comments are open to paid subscribers, thank you so much for supporting my work.
Legal rules: No purchase necessary. Open only to legal residents of the 50 United States and D.C. who are age 18 or older and of the legal age of majority. Entry period begins at 3pm PT on 10/20/23 and ends at 3pm PT on 10/22/23. Void where prohibited. The giveaway is in no way sponsored, endorsed or administered by, or associated with, Substack.
My Favorite Things in My New Home Are (Very) Old
At a party a few weeks ago, I mentioned to a friend we were starting to think about plans to redo our backyard. “Is the inside of your house done?” she asked. I choke-laughed, in that brief, breathy way that signals disbelief. “No,” I said, surprised at the question. “No, not at all.” I stewed on her query at home this week, confined here thanks to Covid. I wish my house was done, I told myself.
When we bought our place in Los Angeles in the summer of 2021, I (naively) thought it would take a year or so to get settled. We had moved several times during the prior decade and I made each rental work quite quickly. When I began working with an interior designer in LA that fall, I said I hoped we could have the first floor done by Christmas.
Cut to two-plus years later and nothing feels “done.” Not the first floor, not the second — not even a single room! Remember our primary bathroom debacle? The one where I demolished it before we moved in and then left it untouched for over a year? Well, that foreshadowed the whole damn house. I vastly underestimated how attached I would feel to a home that we own — it feels much more permanent and, therefore, the stakes feel much higher — as well as the time, money, and mental bandwidth it all takes.
I own the delay, hemming and hawing through a lot of the bigger decisions and obsessing over details (like the undertones in blues — is it green? purple? true navy? so many choices!). I’m also learning how to troubleshoot, problem solve, and pivot (we were ghosted by our bathroom cabinet maker and haven’t found a solution for the botched stain job). And then there are the unexpected things that arise as homeowners, which means diverting budget for one space to another more pressing one (I’m looking at you, broken washing machine).
Two years on, however, I am pleased to report that our house feels like it is taking shape in a very special way. Which brings me to what I sat down today to write about here: My favorite things in my new home are old. Very old. And they embody so much of what feels immensely precious right now — the beauty, uniqueness, and preciousness of time.
This has been a journey for me. I grew up in the midwest in a house filled with finds from my antique-loving father. He used to work from an immense roll top desk, its nooks filled with his collections of coins and fountain pens. As a kid, I silently scoffed at what I thought were the downsides of these old pieces, like how our round kitchen table top never sat quite level. In adulthood, I came to associate “antique” with “country” in a cringey way.
It took my super cool interior designer, Jillian Sipkins, to give me a new appreciation for these pieces. She won me over with vintage rugs, a great (albeit kind of expensive) place to start. I have fallen hard for the ones with a lot of wear, the home equivalent of a great pair of distressed jeans. The first one we got was from the fabulous duo at Weft & Wool (you can see our rug on their home page — that’s in our family room now!). It is around a hundred years old, with patches and frayed spots throughout.
We put another with the dreamiest floral border under our dining table (from Blue Parakeet, she’s incredible) and a third rug in our primary bedroom with the best mix of blues (from Litt Concept House, if you are in LA it’s definitely worth a trip). All three of these big, heavy pieces quite literally ground the room they are in. They draw your eye with their character, which then radiates upward to fill the space. I find myself daydreaming about these rugs and their past lives, what rooms they filled before ours.
We’ve since sprinkled vintage pieces elsewhere in our home, either as anchors (like the rugs) or accents (finishing touches, if you will). We have a small spindle chair in our dining room that is perfectly sized for our little ones and a beautiful marble-top table at the foot of our stairs. Above that hangs the latest addition, a mirror Jill found on the side of the road in Lake Arrowhead. With a cracked wood frame and oxidation around the edges, the piece feels like a bit like an old lady gracing our wall.
My favorite part about all of these pieces is that I am not precious about them. I love, love, love that anything my family does — whilst living our full and chaotic lives — just adds to the character. I plunk my coffee cup down on the entryway table without a thought; my kids run their tiny cars all over the family room rug.
Nesting kicked in big time this week with Covid, so I spent too much time hunting for more old stuff online. During one scrolling session, my younger sister called. Along with being a college professor, mother, and gem of a human, Carolyn is an immensely talented quilter, much like our mother was. Awhile back, she sent me an Instagram post of a vintage blue-and-white star quilt for sale. I reminded her of it on our call and how much I loved it. What made it so cool? I wondered aloud. It was because it was worn, I concluded, used and (presumably, hopefully) loved.
As we were talking, I realized I already have a blue-and-white star quilt. My mom made it for me during my freshman year in college. I also have a gorgeous multicolored one from my mom’s quilting bee, which the group of ladies made after my mom passed away and gave to me and Matt as a wedding present 12 years ago (look at that smile upon opening it!).
You know what I did with these incredible works of art? I wrapped them carefully, in tissue paper and plastic, and put them on the highest shelf in my closet. Memories painstakingly preserved, as if that’s how best to hold onto them. I confessed as much to Carolyn, who knows full well my propensity to stash away “the good stuff.” She gently reminded me that not many quilters do the work they do only for it to be stored out of sight.
As soon as we got off the phone, I dug both pieces out. I was moved to tears by the one my mom made, complete with my name written in her beautiful calligraphy on a heart on the back, and felt the overwhelming urge to wrap myself in it. I sent a selfie to my sister, who texted me back: “Mom definitely made it to be used.”
This month marks 19 years since my mother passed away; she made this quilt for me when I was 19. Thinking of her absence in those terms — my grief now old enough to be an adult — is hard to accept. But what was immediately clear was that this quilt needed to be out in the world, to be part of my home.
But where? I started searching for vintage quilt stands, thinking I could display both quilts in such a way that my kids wouldn’t mess with them. I fought that urge and instead draped them over our couches, with my mom’s quilt in our front living room and the quilting bee’s in our family room. Both spots are frightfully close to places we eat (the dining room table and kitchen counter, respectively); if I’m being honest, the thought of little greasy fingers touching them makes my stomach drop a bit. I texted Carolyn as much. “They are washable!” she responded. And, I reminded myself, both my mom and her friends would be delighted at the thought of my kids’ little hands all over those quilts.
So far, my trio has not clocked the new additions to the couches. This weekend, when the weather is finally supposed to cool off a bit, I’m excited to cuddle up and share the stories of them. Each glimpse of the quilts that I catch makes my heart swell. They remind me of what I want more than anything these days — to slow down and soften, to appreciate what a gift time together is and prioritize the things and the people I love.
What do you love most in your home? What pieces hold memories for you? Please share in the comments if you are willing.
And if you’re looking for more reflections on tenderness, I highly recommend Cleo Wade’s new book, Remember Love. Comment below for a chance to win one of the copies I am giving away. You can also find it at your local bookstore or request it from your library. It’s wonderful (and would make a beautiful gift this upcoming holiday season).
ICYMI: Three things to help with the heavy. Take care, friends. 💗
I also felt the mist fogging up my eyes. I'm imagining your mother wouldn't just love for those tiny grand kid hands to be all over her quilts, but in a way, it's her way of wrapping her whole family up in her love. All her love and care in every stitch... her thoughts, her dreams, her questions... continuing to touch and be touched. They leave us gifts, and we find them when the time is right. When we are ready.
I so struggle with kids not getting at things and enjoying what I have. What a wonderful way to ah w your mother present. Inspired to think of things I can have more out in the open to enjoy.