5 Ways to Make a House a Home

I recently wrote a post about living abroad and how you can’t just force a place to become a home (read it here). That said, there are some easy ways to make a new place feel homier.

1. Pets

I am a pet person. Having a little animal prowling around the house makes it feel full and busy. There is just something about having this creature dependent on my coming home each night and waking each morning. Even at her evilest (and our cat is very evil) she still makes me feel loved and needed. Every time we’ve moved, we’ve ended up with a pet mere weeks after arriving. There really is nothing like it.

2. Color

I love color. It is such a quick and easy way to make a place my own. Moving to Kuwait, where everything is brown, I have become obsessed with adding blues and greens into our daily lives. Paint is the easiest way I know to make a room feel ‘mine’. I choose the color, I pick the place, I give the effort and suddenly the room is stamped with my personality. B prefers plants. There are so many colors, textures and types. He loves moving them throughout the house and is always extra excited when a new one sprouts. However you choose to add color, do it. It will take you a lot closer to creating a ‘home’.

3. Traditions

Back in California, I had a weekly girl’s night. Once I arrived in Honduras, I felt left out knowing these nights were taking place without me. Part way through the year, a new friend offered to start hosting a bi-monthly book club and I practically cried from joy. I have since realized that I need ‘traditions’. Weekly girl’s night, monthly softball games, yearly friends-givings, whatever form they take, once they become a regular part of my life, the more content I feel in my new ‘home’.

4. A Bit of 'Home'

Everyone comes from a different life when they move abroad. I came from a place steeped in community. Therefore, I had to bring a little of that community with me. I brought a quilt that my hometown gave us on our wedding day and cards my sister wrote me as I left. My friends and family are also fantastic at mailing letters to keep me appraised about what’s happening back 'home'. Every little bit helps. 

5. Memories (Old & New)

It may seem obvious, but it is important to keep adding to your home as you keep living life. When we first moved in to our new apartment, I filled it with photos of the people we love. Whether I simply stuck photos to our fridge or hung them in a display, I tried to get them up fast. As the year progresses, I keep adding new photos and such. The happy buddha reminds me of an adventurous trip to Sri Lanka with a new friend, the camel connects me to my new country and the photos can change whenever the need arises. The more you can fill your space with the things that make you happiest, the quicker you will feel ‘home’ again.

Home is Where My Heart Is...

Living abroad is great for so many reasons. Meeting new people, experiencing new adventures and learning about new cultures are just a few of the perks of moving every few years, however there are difficulties with being “new” again and again. And one of those difficulties is creating a ‘home’.

Over the last 20 years my definition of ‘home’ has evolved. For the first 17 years of my life, ‘home’ was a steady never-changing location. My parents raised us on a gorgeous ranch in Northern California. ‘Home’ was as permanent as it could get. My sisters and I were the 6^th generation on the same land. The view out my bedroom window only changed if we rotated rooms. Even the house color stayed the same. There is a lot to be said for permanence. It gave me the freedom to experiment with who I was and where I would live because I knew that ‘home’ would always be there.

When I went off to university, I didn’t go far. I traveled 2 hours up the interstate to the welcoming town of Chico. I spent the next 10 years there, attending school and then taking my first teaching position. At some point, ‘home’ evolved to mean the town of Chico instead of my parent’s house. ‘Home’ was now the downtown shops, the summer sunshine, long walks in the parks, days floating on the river, long boarding to the bars and the many friends I loved and depended on. Home was a city and I loved it.

When I first moved abroad I tried hard to make my new house and city, my ‘home’.  I hung photos and painted walls. I met people and ate at local places. I visited city landmarks and tried to create traditions, but I slowly came to realize that I couldn’t just make a ‘home’. It had to sneak up on me. It was a difficult realization. It meant a lot of homesickness and a lot of time worrying about what I was missing back ‘home’. It meant being hesitant about making new friends because I had ‘real’ ones back ‘home’. It meant comparing everything, and I do many everything, to ‘home’. I began to fear that the only way to make a new ‘home’ was to let go of the old one… and I didn’t want to let go of it. Not ever.

I am now currently wrapping up my fourth year of living abroad and my definition of ‘home’ has evolved again. I now realize that ‘home’ can be many places at once. My parent’s house is - and will always be -  ‘home’. It is a sense of immovability in the ever-moving life I have created and I am so lucky to have that. Chico will also always be ‘home’. It is my past ‘home’ and our future ‘home’ and I love all the people and life that is continues to grow and change there.

Most excitingly, where I am right now is ‘home’. I finally feel ‘at home’ abroad. Living in an 11^th floor flat overlooking the Arabian Gulf is ‘home’. B is here with me and always will be. I have realized that ‘home’ doesn’t’ have to be a house – but it can be. It doesn’t have to mean you will know the people forever – but it is wonderful to hope for that. It doesn’t have to fulfill every part of me – but all my ‘homes’ together do. Most importantly, ‘home’ is ever changing which is okay. It stretches to include family and friends, to include my past, my present and my future, to include those people I see every day and those I only speak to once a year. Home really is where the heart is… and my heart is in so many places around the world... Lucky me.

Photos (top to bottom): Zamora sky, parent's barn (photo credit: Robin), Bidwell Park, Chico storage unit, our Honduran front yard, our Kuwaiti apartment building.

A Riot of Colors

Shopping in Sri Lanka was an assault on the senses. A riot of colors greeted us at every shop. The masks, the costumes, the paintings were full of art and culture and life. It was glorious.

Choosing gifts (for others and myself) was so very, very difficult. At one point, I considered shutting my eyes, spinning in a circle and buying whatever my fingers touched first.

In the end, though, I settled on being inspired by the colors, the artistry and the memories they triggered. Elephants remind me of Lizz and Julie, cats scream Kitty, puzzles are all for Parker and owls, well owls, are so very, very Robin. 

I love shopping!

Thanksgiving: At Home & Abroad

Our first Thanksgiving being married & still neither of us can bake a turkey.

Thanksgiving is not a world holiday. It is purely an American one. It didn’t seem that important when I was living in California, it was far from my favorite. This isn’t to say I didn’t value my time with my family, I did, but the majority of excitement I felt for Thanksgiving was my joy at having a week-long holiday and delicious stuffing.

Living abroad Thanksgiving takes on a different meaning. It is the first real holiday we celebrate alone. No family nearby. No house to return to. No traditions to value and uphold. Things I formerly took for granted I now miss.

I don’t get to help my mom set the table or create place cards. I don’t get to watch my sisters’ help bake and serve all the food, and thank my lucky stars that I am the “creative” one and not the “chef”. I don’t get to enjoy the fact that we are all old enough to enjoy the wine on the table and still young enough to demand our own flavors of pie. I don’t get to go on a walk down the lane, shoot skeet or fly kites. Most importantly, I don’t get to hear my dad’s jokes or my aunt’s laugh, my uncle’s politics or some sisterly bickering. I don’t get to feel my grandma’s hug, whisper secrets to my little sister or admire my cousin’s awesome feathers and nighttime adventures.  I don’t get to celebrate that it is my middle sister and I’s first Thanksgiving as married women. And I don’t get to tell my mom all my worries and have her wisdom and assurance that everything will work out.

Our Many Thanksgivings: Honduran, Missing at Home (notice the sign), Traditional

Thanksgiving is just another day when abroad. In Honduras, we always taught on Thanksgiving and then were given the next day off. Therefore, I always spent my 3-day weekend having an adventure. One year I called my family from the airport as I flew to a Caribbean Island, another year I rafted down a river as they enjoyed their meal and my last year I visited the Honduran capital for some culture.

In Kuwait it is recognized even less. There is no holiday attached at all and the school week is completely normal. Students attend classes, teachers follow plans and Thanksgiving passes by with little to no fanfare. But since there is no holiday and thus no adventure, the homesickness is more acute, and, as I called my family at 11:00 at night, just as they were beginning their meal, I wished I could shoot across time and space and give them all a real hug, instead of digital one.

However, I was not the only one to fill this way, and other, more inspired teachers, did something about it. They decided to host a Kuwaiti Thanksgiving with all the trimmings, which is how, the night after Thanksgiving, I ended up eating turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, potatoes, green bean casserole and numerous other delicious foods. And while I may not have had my family there, having close friends and familiar food made it a whole lot easier to celebrate and give thanks!

Our First Kuwaiti Thanksgiving 

So Happy Thanksgiving to all of you, wherever you may be! And if you are Canadian, just pretend I am wishing you this in October instead!