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The entryway to my home doesn’t really say much about my personal style, or the fact that twin toddlers live in my house. Then, just past the living room, pristine and untouched, with the “good” furniture you’re not supposed to sit on, lies my real home: the lived-in kitchen with dishes piled in the sink, a couch in the family room with pen scribbles on the arm, spilled juice on the floor and French doors decorated with sticky handprints from 20 very busy fingers. Let’s not forget the fact that there are enough toys scattered around to fill a warehouse. This is the reality of my life.
In my head, though, I live in a very different home. My home is a warm and cozy Spanish colonial mansion with sprawling gardens and toasty sitting areas, smartly situated near countless fireplaces. My kitchen would make a chef green, and the floors are so clean you really could eat off them.
Someday, after the lottery, that might be a new reality. For now, I’m faced with being satisfied with what I have. That was the inspiration for the murals I had done by Preciliana Sandoval. One is a very traditional Southwest landscape, seen on page 34. The other is more of a conversation piece. Also painted inside a nicho, Preciliana created a Tree of Life that contains in it everyone in my family, including Roxie, our “first-born” cocker spaniel of 13 years. It’s definitely a more personal statement, but one that finally makes a statement in my home about what matters most to me. If home really is where the heart is, then my home – although far from the stately Spanish mansion I dream of – sure has a lot of it now.
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