Books. Record albums (The big round, vinyl kind!). Paintings on the wall. That's what you see when you walk through the door to my childhood home in Cherry Hill NJ. I was there this weekend, and found it fascinating that I never noticed just how much art, literature, and music I was exposed to every day while I was growing up. Maybe I just took it for granted that everyone listened to music while they ate dinner with the family (sometimes show tunes, sometimes classical, sometimes folk) or that all families carried books around with them from room to room like rectangular appendages that were attached to their hands. And doesn't everyone buy a piece of art when they go on vacation, or have friends who paint artwork for them?
Like most people, when I grew up and had my own home, I did some things differently than my parents . The music in my house is more Grateful Dead, David Bowie, and the Beatles (although we have plenty of folk, rock, and classical as well--especially by my talented composer husband, Daniel Burwasser), and they are not on vinyl, but rather CDs which will probably someday seem as antique to my grandchildren as the vinyl at my parents' house did to my kids. The books in our floor-to-ceiling shelves are more in keeping with our love of non-fiction and biographies than my parents' fiction collection. Art from my travels hangs on the walls, but so do international musical instruments procured by my musician husband and son during our various family vacations. There are also paintings by my multi-talented daughter scattered among paintings and tapestries found on the streets of Europe and the Middle East and flea markets in Philadelphia and the Catskills.
Recently I was watching some of the home makeover shows on HGTV and sadly noticed the lack of books in the rooms. There were no floor to ceiling shelves filled with multi-colored book spines. The people didn't insist on state of the art stereo systems--they just wanted a place for giant flat screen TVs. And there was little art on the wall, other than a few generic things purchased at a local Lowes or other hardware chain. In short, there were plenty of open concept rooms, but even at the three-months-later recap stage, there was nothing in the rooms that might open the homeowners' minds.
I don't need big closets, a swimming pool, or granite countertops. I just need good books, good music, and fine art to make me happy. Is it possible I am part of a dying breed? I hope not. I hope it's just that I've turned on the TV at the wrong time. Maybe one day, when I click on the tube, the Property Brothers will be building bookshelves, installing a massive sound system, and hanging art from around the world on the wall, all in time for that great reveal. How awesome would that be?
But for now, I think I'll just go read a good book.
Like most people, when I grew up and had my own home, I did some things differently than my parents . The music in my house is more Grateful Dead, David Bowie, and the Beatles (although we have plenty of folk, rock, and classical as well--especially by my talented composer husband, Daniel Burwasser), and they are not on vinyl, but rather CDs which will probably someday seem as antique to my grandchildren as the vinyl at my parents' house did to my kids. The books in our floor-to-ceiling shelves are more in keeping with our love of non-fiction and biographies than my parents' fiction collection. Art from my travels hangs on the walls, but so do international musical instruments procured by my musician husband and son during our various family vacations. There are also paintings by my multi-talented daughter scattered among paintings and tapestries found on the streets of Europe and the Middle East and flea markets in Philadelphia and the Catskills.
Recently I was watching some of the home makeover shows on HGTV and sadly noticed the lack of books in the rooms. There were no floor to ceiling shelves filled with multi-colored book spines. The people didn't insist on state of the art stereo systems--they just wanted a place for giant flat screen TVs. And there was little art on the wall, other than a few generic things purchased at a local Lowes or other hardware chain. In short, there were plenty of open concept rooms, but even at the three-months-later recap stage, there was nothing in the rooms that might open the homeowners' minds.
I don't need big closets, a swimming pool, or granite countertops. I just need good books, good music, and fine art to make me happy. Is it possible I am part of a dying breed? I hope not. I hope it's just that I've turned on the TV at the wrong time. Maybe one day, when I click on the tube, the Property Brothers will be building bookshelves, installing a massive sound system, and hanging art from around the world on the wall, all in time for that great reveal. How awesome would that be?
But for now, I think I'll just go read a good book.
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