Home Decor, Aunt Lucille Style

What I Learned from Aunt Lucille (a small sample)

“Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.”—William Morris

As clutter encroaches when cabinets and closets abound with things I might use, I seek Mr. Morris’s advice to find inspiration to purge my reserve supply of stuff. Morris was a British writer and artist of the 1800s, instrumental in English Arts & Crafts Movement. He was also a socialist, but I’ll have to forgive him for that I suppose.

In matters of home décor, this is my guiding principle.

I really think too that the second part of this bit of advice…the “believe to be beautiful” part must have been the cornerstone of Aunt Lucille’s decorating philosophy. Her home was filled with beautiful items passed down to her and collected over her lifetime. To a young girl, I can imagine no place more magical. China dolls, lacy Victorian-era dresses and parasols, delicate dishes and tea sets. Window sills jam-packed with all things adorable and angelic. Bibles, crosses, and scripture verses on coffee tables, walls, and beside beds.

And then there was her powder room. Far too fancy to be called a bathroom, if I’m remembering correctly the carpet was purple. In my mind’s eye, something in there is purple velvet, but I really don’t remember. I know there were beautiful combs, brushes, and mirrors, and fancy soaps.

She was a gifted pianist. Aunt Lucille, seated under the soft glow of the sun through the purple windows of the Plevna Christian Church, played the familiar hymns of my childhood year after year. Of course, one couldn’t really see her behind the piano, and I don’t know how she reached the pedals. “In the Garden” comes to mind now.

The way she spoke made the ordinary beautiful too. As I child, I remember her giving me a dainty Japanese parasol, which I treasured for years. Calling an umbrella a parasol makes it seem about one hundred times prettier. After mom died, I found she had saved it in her cedar chest. And Aunt Lucille didn’t sit on a couch or a sofa. Nay! She (just like my Grandpa Jim, her brother) she entertained company on her davenport. Yes, I think I’d rather have a davenport than a couch.

I don’t mean to suggest that Aunt Lucille was impractical.  It may seem to the un-schooled in the school of Aunt Lucille that this abundance, even excess of what some would blithely refer to as “knickknacks” is not useful. But such a person would be missing the point. Perhaps the use for these items was simply to be beautiful. Beauty in and of itself…beauty for the sake of beauty…is indeed practical.

Perhaps I would amend Mr. Morris’s musing to say “Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful or believe to be useful for the use of being beautiful.”

Having spent over 93 years on earth perfecting the art of appreciating beauty, I can only imagine her thrill as she arrived in Heaven, greeted by not only by Jesus, but also by many adoring fans who earned the privilege of walking with Him ahead of her.

In the Garden

I come to the garden alone
While the dew is still on the roses
And the voice I hear falling on my ear
The Son of God discloses.

And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.

He speaks, and the sound of His voice,
Is so sweet the birds hush their singing,
And the melody that He gave to me
Within my heart is ringing.

I’d stay in the garden with Him
Though the night around me be falling,
But He bids me go; through the voice of woe
His voice to me is calling.

Words: Charles Austin Miles (1912)

Thank you, Aunt Lucille, for teaching me what you taught me. You probably didn’t even know you did.