You may have noticed that I often post about things we do away from home.  I love cultural events and museums, history and the outdoors.  I love travel and outings, encapsulated time bound up in a well planned sequence, with every need prepared for--even spontinaity.

But there is another reason I rarely write about home.  I'm not particularly fond of it.  Yes, I was (and still am) thrilled we were able to buy a house last Fall.  Yes, I like the floor plan, the hardwood floors, the 1940s doorbell that chimes once for the back door and twice for the front; but I don't love my home.  It feels, not like a refuge, but more like a big closet--with beds; a place we dump our stuff and sleep when we are not out in the wide world.  In short, it is not cared for.  I have often told myself that the barrier to a more inviting home is money.  Lack of funds for decorating and so forth.

But that is not true.  I knew it the minute I felt warm, fuzzy house-pride after putting up plastic to insulate our 70-year-old windows.  Window plastic is ugly!  But it made me feel so good about my living space because it was evidence of care.

The point of this long ramble is to explain my challenge to myself.  Make my bedroom into a warm inviting place with a focus on using what I have.

I was planing on putting up a before picture.  In short--I chickened out.  Maybe I will put one up alongside an after picture.