Going home

There's only one place where I really feel at home, and it's not my apartment.  My mom is an artist (but she would never call herself that) and an experienced seamstress.  She also specializes in finding new uses for old things and "decorating".  I love coming to my parent's house for too many reasons.  It's very close to the beach, kind of cluttered in a cozy way, and comfortable because I know the walls and windows by heart.  Even when my mom adds a new pillow or points out that she painted something a different color it's always still familiar because it's her.  Nothing in this house is complicated or here to please anyone and I like that.  I should also mention that my dad is a musician (but he would definitely tell you that) and there is often an added bonus to my visits, sounds of violin or acoustic guitar floating around in the air.  I'm so thankful to have a place to come and be cozy for a while when life gets crazy.  Or when I need something hemmed. 

love,

C   

(antique sewing machine drawers used as storage in a cubby shelf.  That looks like misc. flatwear sticking out of one? hmm)

(she has bins of ribbons in her sewing room)