In my dreams, I live in a house by the sea, high atop a grassy hill with the water spread below me like an endless blanket of blue. I awake to the sun sparkles of a million diamonds, dancing across the waves, and settle into my favorite chair at the end of the day just as the brilliant orange orb sinks into a rosy glow over the horizon.
As you can tell, it isn’t so much about the house for me, as the place where the house is. Of course, I’d like to have a nice home, but it doesn’t need to be a huge mansion. A house with lots of windows so the water is beside me at every turn. A room big enough to hold my baby grand piano, with built in book shelves from floor to ceiling all round, and a couple of big overstuffed chairs. A bedroom with doors that open wide, so the rhythmic lapping of waves becomes both lullaby and wake up call. A wraparound deck, with panoramic views of the water at every turn, and lots of big wicker chairs to plop into. It would be a shiny new place, with slick hardwood floors and bright white cabinetry and woodwork. I’d decorate in all shades of blues, from the darkest navy to the palest periwinkle, and accent with red, dark greens, and yellows.
A home full of light, with crisp brightness, yet warm and inviting as well.
Ah, yes, a home by the sea. In my dreams….