Southern Living

Decorating. I never did get it. Southern women, I have noticed since we moved to Virginia, have this whole home decorating thing down pat. It's as if they were born with a gene for it, and I was born with the anti-gene. They grow beautiful cottage gardens and prize-winning long-stemmed roses. I grow onion grass and mushrooms. Their windows are gracefully adorned with lacy panels, draping valances and luxurious curtains that set off the colors of their settee. My windows are covered by dusty mini-blinds that bend at odd angles and cover little handprints on the window panes. They retile the floors in their kitchens themselves every year, reflecting their latest whimsy. I replace the area rug, now a commemorative tapestry, honoring the ravioli, Froot Loops, and Kool-Aid that sacrified themselves at the altar of our kitchen table.

These ladies paint and wallpaper every room of their house in dramatic, kitschy, and subtle fashions. For the last five years, paint is something I made an effort to protect my walls from, and if something was affixed to the wall, you can be sure it was done with about eighteen strips of Scotch tape. Their dining room tables are perpetually laid with their finest china and silver, anticipating another dinner party. Our dining room table is shoved off into a corner, covered with drawing paper, boxes of crayons, and the latest artistic creations, laid out to dry. The kitchen table has vinyl placemats adorned with maps of the world, flags of the world, and the states and their capitols.

If you drop by to visit one of your neighbors, you're immediately offered fresh-brewed sun tea and a tray of delectable morsels. I have a pot of coffee that I brewed three hours ago, juice boxes, and apple slices with peanut butter. They always have that inviting, spicy aroma of something sweet that just came out of the oven. I have the constant whoosh and rumble of the washer and dryer.

But when the day comes that we move again, I won't have to leave behind all the effort and love I put into my most prized possessions. They'll be right behind me, watching Popeye from their carseats, and right beside me, at the wheel.