A home never feels done, but there are moments when it feels right. And right is better than done.
Done implies finished, static, closed. But a home that’s truly lived in keeps revealing itself. You move a lamp and suddenly a corner wakes up. You finally hang the thing you’ve been leaning against the wall for two years and the whole room exhales. Those aren’t signs you were failing before. They’re signs the house is talking to you and you’re finally listening.
So no. It’s never done. But there’s a moment, usually after something hard, a renovation, a move, a loss, when you walk in and it holds you. That’s the feeling people are chasing. Not completion. Just belonging.
Meanwhile, my take on when a home feels "done". When my son was in third grade, his amazing teacher suggested he try a fountain pen to fix his (truly unreadable) handwriting. My first reaction was to complain to my mom about who in their right mind would give a 10 year old a fountain pen and a bottle of ink in a house of pale carpets and a beige couch. My mom suggested to me that one day in the future I would move a piece of furniture, find an ink stain and it would make me smile. She was right. A home isn't finished when everything looks perfect. It's finished when the pencil marks on the doorframe mean more than fresh paint — and an old ink stain becomes a love letter from a life well lived.
A home - that place where you hang your heart - is never “done”.
It is in dynamic equilibrium with your life. The wants and needs, the required and necessary. The “hardware” of life from toddler gates and electrical outlet plugs to rocker switches and grab bars. The “rainbow” of colors you painted its walls. (Our first townhome wore the colors of an autumn harvest of pumpkin and squash and cornstalks. Now look at homes cast in the grays of clouds and mists). The affordability of decor trickling down from Terence Conran’s Habitat to IKEA and Target changed the landscape of “switching it out” and made seasonal looks feasible. Your home and what you place in it holds your memories. The artifacts of your dailiness. Never done but some days - finished.
I think Barbara and I might be the same person ... except our parking / storage aren't in the basement and instead of "downsizing" I call what we did "rightsizing."
I, too, bought 2 Hulken XL (purple and red) and I'm not sure if I recommend it. We only have the XL so perhaps this isn't true for the smaller sizes (?) but when empty it will not stay up / open. In the garage as I open up the bag I look as if I'm playing advanced twister trying to keep it up / open as I place my things in it. Once there is enough weight *and* bulk in it it's a piece of cake (chocolate) to roll. My husband refuses to let me bring it with us as we walk to various grocery stores because, pre-shop, it is so annoying. Urgh.
Eleven years ago when in Boston I saw an elegant older woman walking to the greengrocer pulling a wicker (maybe?) market basket. Fabulous. Hers was clearly one of a kind but maybe that'll be my next set of wheels.
Thanks for weighing in! The size pictured above is a Medium and it doesn't have the issues you've encountered with the XL. It sounds like people should avoid the XL size. I, took, like the look of the wicker baskets but they don't have insulation and their firmness can sometimes be hard on delicate fruits and veg.
I was thinking as I was reading your post Amanda that no, a house is never done and then I got to Lauren's comment which was beautifully put. Your tastes change, your circumstances change so what you need changes. As I've gotten both older and more financially secure I want less stuff but invest in things that mean more, bring me more joy. Or my appreciation of things have changed; older items that are better made have an appeal they didn't always have in the past. I expect I will always be making adjustments, even if it's only replacing the electrical outlet covers or repainting the bathroom.
A caveat about that wonderfully tasty Kashmiri chili powder: depending on the source, it can harbor weevils. Yes, they can live in chili powder! When I purchased it overseas, I had to sift the weevils out to use it.
Just a note and a shout out to Hulken. We recently downsized and moved to a condo. Our parking and storage area are on the basement level. I bought two Hulkens when we moved in and they are truly wonderful. I unload groceries or whatever shopping I have been doing from the car into a Hulken roll it to the elevator and up to our floor with ease.
Really sturdy and the wheels roll so easily. Highly recommend them.
I'm not sure a home ever truly feels done - and I'm not sure it ever should. A new artwork or object found on a trip, a gift from someone who really gets your aesthetic... that all adds depth and dimension that can deepen the sense of your space being your home. I think a home can feel complete and still never be 'done'... meaning it can make the people who live there feel beautifully reflected while still being a space that's open for rearranging or reimagining.
As I was exploring whether I wanted to live in my new home or my home of 20 years, or keep both. I realized the difference between a house and a home. (To me). When I would return to my older home with no family gathering, no friends visiting and us spending less time there. It became a house. Our new HOME was the place that we gathered with family and friends. Where life and laughter was taking place.
I fell in love with South Dakota the first time I visited on business, somewhere around 1995. Over the years I developed a dream to buy a retirement home there, and in November 2019 the dream came true, just in time for the pandemic. The plan had been to travel between our homes in Chicago, where our family is, and Rapid City, spending about 6-8 weeks at a time in either place, depending on events and obligations. We arrived in Rapid in early March 2020 to take the first furniture deliveries and did not leave until May 2021.
The house in Chicago is where our kids grew up. It was built over 100 years ago, has accumulated over 40 years worth of clutter - and it’s too much house for a couple of septuagenarians. Our house in Rapid City was built in 2015, soon after the rancher who had raised cattle there retired and sold his land to a developer. We live on a street named after his wife. We can see the Black Hills from our back window. It is my dream house in every way.
All the things I care about the most are in the Rapid City house. My favorite room is where I do all the creative things - writing, painting, knitting, and my new passion, Kawandi quilting. My husband who was never handy is becoming a serious woodworker. It makes me so happy to know this was the right decision for both of us. Home is a house, but you really find home in your heart.
I don't know if I could put it any better than anyone else has already about when a home is "done." I agree with all who have commented! Loved this one, and also agree with Sarah--I need a whackerspoon--what a crazy and cool chance encounter!
A home never feels done, but there are moments when it feels right. And right is better than done.
Done implies finished, static, closed. But a home that’s truly lived in keeps revealing itself. You move a lamp and suddenly a corner wakes up. You finally hang the thing you’ve been leaning against the wall for two years and the whole room exhales. Those aren’t signs you were failing before. They’re signs the house is talking to you and you’re finally listening.
So no. It’s never done. But there’s a moment, usually after something hard, a renovation, a move, a loss, when you walk in and it holds you. That’s the feeling people are chasing. Not completion. Just belonging.
What a lovely way to think about it.
I think I need a whackerspoon.
Meanwhile, my take on when a home feels "done". When my son was in third grade, his amazing teacher suggested he try a fountain pen to fix his (truly unreadable) handwriting. My first reaction was to complain to my mom about who in their right mind would give a 10 year old a fountain pen and a bottle of ink in a house of pale carpets and a beige couch. My mom suggested to me that one day in the future I would move a piece of furniture, find an ink stain and it would make me smile. She was right. A home isn't finished when everything looks perfect. It's finished when the pencil marks on the doorframe mean more than fresh paint — and an old ink stain becomes a love letter from a life well lived.
Love this, Sarah. Thanks for sharing.
A home - that place where you hang your heart - is never “done”.
It is in dynamic equilibrium with your life. The wants and needs, the required and necessary. The “hardware” of life from toddler gates and electrical outlet plugs to rocker switches and grab bars. The “rainbow” of colors you painted its walls. (Our first townhome wore the colors of an autumn harvest of pumpkin and squash and cornstalks. Now look at homes cast in the grays of clouds and mists). The affordability of decor trickling down from Terence Conran’s Habitat to IKEA and Target changed the landscape of “switching it out” and made seasonal looks feasible. Your home and what you place in it holds your memories. The artifacts of your dailiness. Never done but some days - finished.
Thanks, Deirdre. I'm typing this from a room that has been an office, a baby room, an art room, and an office again!
A home feels done after hanging your art on the walls. 🖼️
I think Barbara and I might be the same person ... except our parking / storage aren't in the basement and instead of "downsizing" I call what we did "rightsizing."
I, too, bought 2 Hulken XL (purple and red) and I'm not sure if I recommend it. We only have the XL so perhaps this isn't true for the smaller sizes (?) but when empty it will not stay up / open. In the garage as I open up the bag I look as if I'm playing advanced twister trying to keep it up / open as I place my things in it. Once there is enough weight *and* bulk in it it's a piece of cake (chocolate) to roll. My husband refuses to let me bring it with us as we walk to various grocery stores because, pre-shop, it is so annoying. Urgh.
Eleven years ago when in Boston I saw an elegant older woman walking to the greengrocer pulling a wicker (maybe?) market basket. Fabulous. Hers was clearly one of a kind but maybe that'll be my next set of wheels.
Gotta roll!
Thanks for weighing in! The size pictured above is a Medium and it doesn't have the issues you've encountered with the XL. It sounds like people should avoid the XL size. I, took, like the look of the wicker baskets but they don't have insulation and their firmness can sometimes be hard on delicate fruits and veg.
I was thinking as I was reading your post Amanda that no, a house is never done and then I got to Lauren's comment which was beautifully put. Your tastes change, your circumstances change so what you need changes. As I've gotten both older and more financially secure I want less stuff but invest in things that mean more, bring me more joy. Or my appreciation of things have changed; older items that are better made have an appeal they didn't always have in the past. I expect I will always be making adjustments, even if it's only replacing the electrical outlet covers or repainting the bathroom.
Thanks so much for sharing your thoughts.
A caveat about that wonderfully tasty Kashmiri chili powder: depending on the source, it can harbor weevils. Yes, they can live in chili powder! When I purchased it overseas, I had to sift the weevils out to use it.
Ack! I didn't know this about chile powders. Thanks for filling us in!
Just a note and a shout out to Hulken. We recently downsized and moved to a condo. Our parking and storage area are on the basement level. I bought two Hulkens when we moved in and they are truly wonderful. I unload groceries or whatever shopping I have been doing from the car into a Hulken roll it to the elevator and up to our floor with ease.
Really sturdy and the wheels roll so easily. Highly recommend them.
Thanks for letting us know -- it sounds like the smaller sizes are ideal.
I'm not sure a home ever truly feels done - and I'm not sure it ever should. A new artwork or object found on a trip, a gift from someone who really gets your aesthetic... that all adds depth and dimension that can deepen the sense of your space being your home. I think a home can feel complete and still never be 'done'... meaning it can make the people who live there feel beautifully reflected while still being a space that's open for rearranging or reimagining.
As I was exploring whether I wanted to live in my new home or my home of 20 years, or keep both. I realized the difference between a house and a home. (To me). When I would return to my older home with no family gathering, no friends visiting and us spending less time there. It became a house. Our new HOME was the place that we gathered with family and friends. Where life and laughter was taking place.
I fell in love with South Dakota the first time I visited on business, somewhere around 1995. Over the years I developed a dream to buy a retirement home there, and in November 2019 the dream came true, just in time for the pandemic. The plan had been to travel between our homes in Chicago, where our family is, and Rapid City, spending about 6-8 weeks at a time in either place, depending on events and obligations. We arrived in Rapid in early March 2020 to take the first furniture deliveries and did not leave until May 2021.
The house in Chicago is where our kids grew up. It was built over 100 years ago, has accumulated over 40 years worth of clutter - and it’s too much house for a couple of septuagenarians. Our house in Rapid City was built in 2015, soon after the rancher who had raised cattle there retired and sold his land to a developer. We live on a street named after his wife. We can see the Black Hills from our back window. It is my dream house in every way.
All the things I care about the most are in the Rapid City house. My favorite room is where I do all the creative things - writing, painting, knitting, and my new passion, Kawandi quilting. My husband who was never handy is becoming a serious woodworker. It makes me so happy to know this was the right decision for both of us. Home is a house, but you really find home in your heart.
I don't know if I could put it any better than anyone else has already about when a home is "done." I agree with all who have commented! Loved this one, and also agree with Sarah--I need a whackerspoon--what a crazy and cool chance encounter!