There is a reason why this view from the living room loveseat is pictured. It is probably one of the most frequented views (aside from Netflix on the television screen or the gas stove in the kitchen) and in all honesty, its incomplete-ness is an accurate reflection of our whole process of settling in or homemaking. I love a good minimalistic vignette, and for that reason, you won't find me loading corners up with stuff just to fill a void. Six months in, framed photographs and pieces of art are still propped up against walls until I can fully commit to something posted in the same place, or being drilled into the freshly painted, Chelsea Gray plaster. That off-white lampshade in the dining room drives me nuts and I cannot wait to find the perfect fabric or handmade paper to wrap it in, the map of St. Andrews Old Course is intentionally hung low enough to legibly read every corner of it despite judgment, and the chest is a hand-me-down that I painted nearly a decade ago. Like many of our furnishings I inherited and rebirthed with paint, it gracefully wears scuffs and scrapes from the half-a-dozen moves it has made ever since. On top of all of these perfect imperfections I would never give up, the stack of mail proves that we're only human, who cares. Completing the aesthetics of this house is a process that I'm not willing to rush, and I'm proud of myself for that, and for many of the other little tasks we've accomplished along the way. More soon.