Home Is Where You Hang Your Top Hat.
It's interesting how people develop a style. Lots of people just run together in my mind because it's all about meeting the latest trends, but sometimes you meet someone who truly has their own distinct trademark ways. You know those people. They're the ones passionate about something. Art, hunting, or anything. Stamp collecting even.
Regardless, nothing tells more of a story of someone than their home or their art. You are encouraged to ponder this and analyze, to ask questions of your friends' choice of decor. Maybe you won't have to ask, maybe upon your previously non-observance, you will choose to quickly leave. Granted, most of them when asked will just say, "I just like it, that's all." But for others it's different. Lots of times there's stories.
And if you're an interesting person at all, you like stories. If you don't (than why are you reading this blog?), I will, at best, just be kind to you as my heart quotes Benedict from Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing when he says, 'come not near me.'
Just kidding. I'm not so shallow that I won't like you just because you possibly have no depth.
Lol Just kidding again. I won't judge you. Promise.
(Sigh) Ohhh this girl has had way too much coffee.
Well, I write any of this at all because people invited into the Farmcastle often ask about our decor. Sometimes it gives them an uneasy fascination. Sometimes they love it. Other times they leave thinking objects within are possessed. Our good friends understand us and to them it's comfortable because it's just 'us.', Either way, there are often many questions. So, because I've been asked for explanations several times this week, I thought I'd blog about it. Just for fun.
So....drumroll....ta-da (cymbal crash)
The Farmcastle
So I should probably just say it. We're slightly Macabre.
A little of the Adams family. The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe directed by Tim Burton.
Many people have seen this giant house peeking over and between trees that surround the property. And were you to walk through the doors, you perhaps feel like you've stepped into something haunted mansion-ish. Not because we're Goth, well, mostly not (well, maybe we kind of are? Certainly not intentionally). But also certainly, you will find no turquoise and white chevrons, Pottery Barn-esque or current-trendy anything within these hallowed halls.
Well, trendy Gothic Victorian maybe. There's legitimate reasons why, and it'll help you understand the bowl full of antique animal teeth in apothecary jars on the dining room buffet. (Seriously.)
I grew up in England, where my historian and archaeologist father spoon fed me atop excavations and crumbling ruins. For birthdays, I received cake, balloons and artifacts. I lived in a 17th century hunting manor, built by an ancient member of Parliament who was later, whist on riding his horse on a hunting expedition, decapitated by a low hanging branch. Total Ricky Gervaise happy ending. The locals wouldn't set foot in the manor because they knew it was haunted. Stories for another time. We loved it. Here's an old photo of it...and a hunting party.
My eccentric, academic parents encouraged a great romance with the past. For the longest time I didn't realize people were afraid of skeletons.
Once in grade school (and I say once because of the horrific ramifications) I brought my entire, expansive collection of four-century-old pigs and sheep teeth (the very same on the buffet!) for show and tell, all of which I'd gathered over years of poking in an Elizabethan garbage dump near my house that my Dad and I would excavate together. My father was delighted in my collection, but didn't realize I'd taken them to school. They were precious to me, so why shouldn't I? I proudly produced them, one by one, from a 19th century velvet lined box, onto a table for my classmates inspection. My teacher saw black dots at the edge of her vision as she grabbed a nearby desk.
There was a point in my middle school years where I knew more about dead Anglo Saxons than I did about normal people. I could examine a grave and tell you if the skeleton was female, and if an adult, then how many children she'd borne. I adored graves. They were just crying to tell their stories, mysteries that needed solving. I dreamed of their lives. They were treasure.
In high school, my father worked with the Imperial War Museum of London, and since I had a crush on T.E. Lawrence (a.k.a. Lawrence of Arabia...and I might add here, most people watch Christmas movies and spend time with family during the holidays. My father sliced us pie, poured the eggnog and we watched Peter O'Toole in the classic film, and took our yearly trip to the Somme in France to Walk the icy trenches), my blessed padre brought me home poster size photos of the sexy Anglo archived from some past exhibition. I displayed them on my walls like my friends did boy bands. Other teenagers were creeped out that he was a dead guy. But, Jim Morrison was a dead guy too, and they had him on their walls. Alive people were so wierd.
Due to my upbringing, here's one of my life-blood philosophies that will help you understand our home: the past is always alive. And it's beautiful. And death isn't something to be afraid of. It just...is.
Now onto the sexy Snape.
He grew up a gypsy. Not the watered down version, not just someone who says that about themselves because they travel a ton. No, The Snape was a real gypsy. His family traveled from place to place as they camped on rivers and lakes. He had to catch frogs, fish, and crawdads for his brothers and sisters so they could eat. He washed their clothes in the rivers with a bar of soap. They cooked rice in a pot over a fire. It was a hard life, he grew up fast. Eventually, this wild boy ran away from his father and lived on the streets wherever he could find shelter, which wasn't hard because The Snape is very, very stunningly attractive.
He fell naturally into the New Wave 80's vampire trend. Think of Lost Boys, now you can see The Snape as a youth. Long, thick dyed black hair to the middle of his waist, black liner rimmed eyes, long, lithe, well toned body with natural grace. He has an inherent predatory nature that left women breathless and men on their guard or envious, or both. He lived his life by Ozzy and The Scorpians. Lord, the amount of women from those days who currently try and friend him on Facebook embarrasses him, but he is a babe...such a babe.
After a very long (and lucky he made it out alive) life, somehow, we managed to meet.
Here are some pictures of us from that time. The sexy rogue turned super hot history Professor. I was working at the time as a writer. It was love at first sight, really. I heard him laugh from across a huge room and I just...well, knew. Here we are, and oh gosh he's painfully gorgeous looking like a pirate cowboy:
Don't say it, we already know, we look like we could be brother and sister.
From there, it was a whirlwind of discovery. We moved in together. Got married. We loved so hard, like we were making up for all the lost time without a soul mate. We both had kids from previous failed marriages. Together, we all somehow completed each other. And our style together was immediate and gloriously immaculate: Disney's Haunted Mansion meets William Morris at the British Museum...with Miss Havisham.
You won't walk anywhere in this house without seeing some stark contrast of one kind or another. The whole Farmcastle is rambling and slightly creepy, people have gotten lost in it. Some people refuse to come here at night because they believe they've had real run ins with spirits. If there's spirits here, and undoubtedly we've all heard weird sounds, they haven't bothered us too much. The Snape and I love this old place, and so do our children.
But, come on, If you have half a soul you'd love anyplace smothered with antique books and your family's art.
And also, while the dinosaur skulls in the curator's cabinet and mysterious stacks of antique boxes truly are awesome, the very best part of the house ambiance is The Youngest child passionately practicing her cello, the dining room table covered in watercolor paint, brushes, and half finished paintings, stacks of art books and sketch pads on the huge coffee table in the family room of half finished drawings. It's a creative space, designed to inspire, at least inspire what inspires us, anyway.
Comments
Post a Comment