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.

Let Them Eat Cake!

We wish you many happy returns of the day.
May sunshine and gladness be given.
And may the Dear Father prepare you on earth
For a beautiful birthday in heaven.

Today, as we celebrated our baby’s first birthday on earth, Aunt Lucille celebrated her beautiful birth day in Heaven after 93 birthdays on earth.

Lucille Montague was my great-aunt. My mom’s aunt, my Grandpa Jim’s big sister. Though she was short in stature, she was long on grace. She was one of the most influential people in my mom’s life. My mom’s favorite aunt joined her in Heaven this morning. It seems so like Aunt Lucille to die on a Sunday. It just seems the ladylike thing to do.

There's cake in heaven, right? (just indulge me...you don't need to criticize my theology)

As I mentioned above, today was Patrick’s FIRST birthday party. I cooked a turkey. That’s right. A chicken last month, a turkey today. My culinary repertoire is vastly expanding. Fortunately, my family pitched in with hot rolls, noodles, mashed potatoes, and a shamrock birthday cake. And, of course, my specialty, homemade super-duper chocolate ice cream, made with a quart-and-a-half of heavy whipping cream, 9 egg yolks, and an insane amount of chocolate. (it was good)…John watched me crack the eggs. He said I was hatching them.

Patrick had a fabulous time experiencing his cake and ice cream. We had practiced Tuesday with an angelfood cake topped with fluffy meringue frosting and conversation hearts, so he knew he had to pace himself, less he re-experience the sugar shakes. But I think he experienced his first brainfreeze, nonetheless. Our little daredevil missed out on blowing out his candle, though. He grabbed the flame and extinguished it before we could show him how to blow it out. We weren’t brave enough to re-light it after that.

He thoroughly enjoyed the day, and loved all his new toys, but he especially loved the birthday cards. He gets such a kick out of getting something new that is “just his” but, of course, that doesn’t last, since John is anxious for P. Dub to “share” with him. (translation: John takes all the toys, using the excuse “No, P. Dub, you’re too little. You might choke on it.) He would say that about a basketball.

I had mentioned to a client a couple weeks ago that Patrick would soon be one. She had asked me if my baby turning one made me sad. Truthfully, it did not, and still doesn’t really, even now that I’ve pondered the question a week or two. But I know it’s supposed to make me sad. You know, childhood is fleeting and so on and so forth. Is it that I haven’t taken time to think about it? No, it’s not, at least not now, because I’ve thought about it a lot since that person asked me that particular question. I think it’s a combination of a few other factors:

(1)   Though I desperately love my boys, I severely dislike the chores of motherhood. I try not to completely snap at a request to drop everything and fill a sippy cup. I have a love-hate relationship with breastfeeding (which incidentally, brings me back to Aunt Lucille, whom I remember telling me how much she “enjoyed nursing her babies.”) I have weaned Patrick, but that’s the subject of another post. Strangely enough, though, dirty diapers don’t really bother me. Probably because, given my boys’ steady dependence on MiraLax, dirty diapers are cause for a party in and of themselves. Every birthday gets my boys closer to my reward of seeing them enter adulthood as responsible, faithful, thoughtful young men. Young men, who (in this particular fantasy of mine) still say “Mom, you’re the best ever. You’re the best ever mommy.”

(2)  When John was diagnosed with cancer, I feared we would not see him celebrate his first birthday. He has celebrated not one, but three fabulous birthdays since his diagnosis. Though Patrick has never suffered a life-threatening illness, facing this with my firstborn perhaps makes me a little more aware just how much every birthday is a gift. A marker of the passage of time to be celebrated, not lamented.

(3)  Patrick will almost certainly not be our last child. Maybe it would be more bittersweet if I knew Patrick would be our last baby. I doubt it. Unless perhaps in this hypothetical situation he slept all night long consistently…

 I read once in a magazine that parents should not make a big deal out of children’s birthdays. I cannot fathom the logic involved in this advice. I enjoy reciting in my head the role call of “Lynda cakes” my boys have had: a rubber ducky, a blue M&M, Buzz Lightyear & Woody, and now, as of today, a shamrock. Now, I’ll admit in my head, the party always goes a lot more smoothly, probably because all of the children are patiently seated around a table, wearing party hats and their unspoiled Sunday best, politely awaiting their share of cake and ice cream with no objections as to a perceived shortage of frosting, or corner vs. edge vs. middle piece, position of the cake on the plate, degree of pre-cut-upness of the cake, cake touching ice cream vs. cake on completely separate plate/bowl, or fork or spoon, or color of fork of spoon.

And then, when it’s time for the presents, all the children (including siblings of the birthday boy) quietly and attentively watch said birthday boy unwrap his presents and perhaps, much later, politely ask if they may have a turn with the new toy.

And the birthday boy himself? Well, he quickly and methodically (but also patiently and reverently) opens each present, but only after opening the card and thanking the giver before opening the present, with which he is thoroughly and sincerely thrilled.

That’s why I plan every detail…just on the off chance that it might one day go how I planned.

I think that’s a good place to quit for the night.