Pulling threads of life through my home.

I hope you'll always float along with me.

I hope you'll always fly beside me.

I hope you'll always weave those threads within me and around me.

To never end them. To never cut them loose.

To always hold them tightly and build a nest of them all.

A poem to my heart and my soul, to my memories and all the moments that I'll hold dear. To my home that I always hope to reflect them all. To reflect them to me, and to all my beloved souls.

Made a bird for my gallery wall. Reminder of peace, stillness and home.

These days, in this new year and after Christmas I often observe corners of my home and reflect on what home means to me. I often tell you and I often write about saying farewell to flocks of wild geese when they're leaving for some warmer valleys and hills. I think I will always have that need to watch the sky and listen to those flocks until I hear them no more. Whenever I want to remind myself of simplicity and magic of my childhood, that's exactly what I reminiscence of. Whenever I think of my mother as a mother and the love she gave us, I remember that. Whenever I think of our home, the warmth of those four small walls and growing up in it, that's the first thing that comes to my mind. You know why? Because it reminds me of home. First I remember her voice, and then that curious look on her face as she waved her hands up in the air and invited us to run out onto the porch. Then I remember her pale skin and her dark brown eyes fixated high on the white autumn sky. I remember with what curiosity she watched those flocks and that joy while she waved them goodbye, inviting us to wave too. I remember the words she used to say, how she always reminded us to say farewell when wild geese were leaving their home, our home. She reminded as, autumn after autumn, that they will return back home, with that fearless strength, with that incredible intuition and desire to come back. And you know what, the three of us were like those geese. We always hurried home from school with desire to return to our home as soon as possible, to those meadows and pastures, to warmth of that small gray stove and the sight of mom preparing something in her small kitchen. I have always wanted to create that kind of warmth and love in my home. That feeling of wanting to always return to our nest. Not because of the things we have, but because of the feelings it awakens in us, because of the story, because of the love, because of the togetherness and warmth it gives us.

Handmade salt dough ornaments. Birds, for spreading peace and love.

I see home as the first place children will grow their roots, release their imagination, build up their tiny worlds and carve their own little spaces. Home is a space where we create all those rhythms of our lives, space where doors of love and acceptance are always open. Space where our hearts can pull and weave threads all around. My heart has threads all over my family home in the countryside. That was my first home, where my imagination first flew, where I found myself, where I found love and sadness and loss and joy and all those experiences of a growing child. It still is my safe heaven. I sleep there so peacefully. I feel so safe there. I come there with such joy in my heart. And whenever I'm there, on every corner of that home I'm being reminded of my childhood. It's funny, I'm rarely, almost never, reminded of unhappy memories. And deep in my heart and soul I know that one day, when my dear parents are gone, it will still be my home, the home where I will find them. My mother in the corner of the kitchen, in her garden between flower stems, on the stairs and at the door of my old room. My father under the fig tree and next to the old barn, walking along winding field paths and on his seat in the living room. I will always see the three of us running around mom's garden, climbing cherry trees and running past the kitchen window following the smell of freshly made pancakes. There will always rest my first magical story. My beginning. And I believe that in my end I will remember exactly that beginning too.

Three black shells, one heart opening day.

Every home is a living manifestation of life that unfolds in it. Creating an embodied home allows us to free ourselves from perfectionism and constant need to be something else. All of us are different, we carry our own threads of creativity, of memories, of our childhood, of our emotions, of our past and our future selves. So how can we have same homes and how can we pursue trends and buy new items just to change it all the time? I realized I cannot build my home like that. My mom didn't followed trends or constantly bought new items to change our home to look similar to someone else's. She bought fabrics to sew her own curtains, she picked her flowers to put them in her old grandma's vases. She framed our photos, photos of love and togetherness. She lighted candles, sat with us on the floor and read stories. She was present in all what was around our home. She was present with us. And now, I realize that home is presence, home should contain reminders of that presence. What makes my home a warm nest is a collection of carefully crafted memories and feelings from our childhoods, our first homes, of bits and pieces we picked up along the way. It is interesting and magical how heart pulls all those tiny threads through the corners of our homes, how we pick items that will pull those threads too. It's interesting how many threads of our hearts have already passed through our little home. On the wall in my living room hangs a picture with three tiny figures running through an endless expanse, and it always reminds me of my brother and sister, of our childhood and how we run through the meadow behind our house. The white tablecloth on my kitchen table always reminds me of my mom because she gave me that tablecloth, because she spread that tablecloth on our table when I was little. In my living room, tiny gallery wall is made up of framed photos of my husband, me and our little one from his baptism. Timeless photos that captured his little smile and our love for him. There is also a framed photo of my husband and me from our wedding day, of us walking through the meadow near my family home. Underneath it, a small autumn wreath made of dried wildflowers and flowers from my wedding bouquet. Next to it is a small wooden boat that my husband and I found on our honeymoon. Little wooden print tray, years old, contains three small black shells that my toddler and I found on the river bank this summer. Those three black shells always remind me of that day and how much my perspective on motherhood changed that day. This Christmas, my sister and I made a wreath of dried flowers from the meadow and my mother's garden. Now, that wreath is on my kitchen wall as a reminder of the Christmas moments with my sister. I don't buy bookmarks anymore. Almost six years ago I decided to make them out of plain white cardboard. With the help of my beloved typewriter given to me by my husband years ago, I wrote words of gratitude for each member of my family. Whenever I read a book and open some new pages, these words always greet me and awaken in me a feeling of gratitude. This year, my parents bought my son a small wooden table and a small wooden chair for his birthday. Watching him sit on that chair and draw in his corner, taking out wooden crayons that are stacked in my father's toolbox, is something that makes me feel so happy. You see, things don't have to be new, nor do they have to change every few years, nor do they have to be expensive, nor do they have to be plentiful. Sometimes even the smallest things are enough to make home a home. I don't put fresh flowers in vases, but dried flowers that I collected on my meadow walks in the countryside. Whenever I see those vases on the table, I remember my walks, I remember my mother, I remember my sister and our conversations. I remember the wonders I encountered on my walks through pastures and forest paths. I remember some difficult moments, but the grateful ones that I experienced on solitary walks. I remember life.

My simple wreath. It reminds me of love and family and of some autumn magic too.

So three years ago, starting the path of minimalism and simple living, I decided to remove everything that I brought into the home because of trends or the desire to have something like someone else. I decided to try and practice less is more. To invest in homewares that will serve us for years and that we'll love for years too. To put that intention into practice when buying toys for my kid and newborn items. I decided to keep only what awakens love, peace and memories in me. I decided to build a home for my husband, child and myself that would reflect us. Instead of buying ornaments for the Christmas tree, I decided to make them, some with our initials, with our colors, with our details. I decided to buy and choose toys for my child that will reflect our effort to live a simple life, toys that will grow with him and that may one day be used by my grandchildren. I decided to slowly fill my kitchen with bowls and cups in neutral colors, ceramic and long-lasting ones, bowls that will exude simplicity and remind me of my home values. Instead of buying embroidery and graphics for my little one's corner, I decided to collect beautiful picture books, make embroidery with his name, find artistic details that reflect his childhood and his tiny, but magical interests. So, in his crib is a little teddy bear that I sewed for him for this Christmas and a doll that I bought for his first birthday. Above the crib hangs an illustration of a mother cradling her son by the window with a view of the starry sky and far away hills. There is also an illustration of a little boy reading a book in a barn, while his grandmother is milking the cow. There is also a small wooden birdhouse as an invitation for some imagination. It all has its own sparks of memories. All this reminds him of something special. And us too.

Tiny but magical corner of our home.

And I know that one day he will bring a feather from a walk and put it on his shelf. He will put a cone in my father's toolbox. He will bring autumn leaves and hang them above the bed. He will bring stones in different shapes in his jacket pocket and neatly organize them on his table. One day my child will start bringing his own stories to corners of our home. And it will be special. Just as what we bring into the corners of our home is also special. And on that path of mine I realized that there is no perfect home. Homes are ever evolving, especially when children arrive, because life changes, routines change, we change too. And I realized how much I want to stop having that pressure of perfectionism and feeling of not having enough. I wanted my home to be cozy, warm, inviting. To be enough for me and my tiny family without creating that connection of happiness with just material goods. I wanted to notice where sunshine light falls in my home and to notice silly things my little one does every day and to imprint that in my heart. I wanted to feel happy when I opened my balcony doors, walked barefoot outside and enjoyed my coffee under the sun. I wanted to collect seasonal signs and start to cherish seasons with bringing nature inside. We all have that need in us, to create that home full of love and acceptance. To turn that home into an abundance of love and warmth even in the moments of despair. Home is exactly what it should be, the embodiment of freedom to bring into it what is dear to our hearts. What awakens happiness, love, acceptance, togetherness, imagination, some story, some little secret, curiosity and that spark of life. Home should be that embodiment of life itself.

Little suggestions:

• A story about welcoming New Year with no resolutions.

• Where did the December go? Read it here.

• More on embracing and creating simple and slow home.

• A story of my home. Read here.

• Also I've been writing some tiny tales over on Substack, on my page Notes from Meadow, so you can head there too.