What does it take to turn a house into a home? More than fancy furniture, more than a big garden with a pool, it takes people to make the memories that make you feel at home. Add a piano and a singalong, says Mandy Collins, and you’ve got a perfect recipe for happiness.
I was visiting my friend’s very trendy loft apartment the other day, and she gave me the grand tour. As we walked through the space, she talked me through the various furniture arrangements she and her partner had tried: couches over here, table over there, things facing this way and that… as you do when you’ve only been in a space for a short time.
Another friend is looking for a small townhouse to buy, and for him, some things are sacrosanct – a shower, not a bath, space for a dishwasher, blinds on the windows, and enough space outside for his shiny silver braai. A bar would be a nice addition, but he’s prepared to compromise on that score.
It got me thinking about what makes a house – or a flat – into a home. Is it about the personal knick-knacks, the family photographs, the reminders flapping fruitlessly under a flurry of fridge magnets? Is the garden or the balcony or the really big tree that drops blossoms over your wall in spring? Is it about needing an en-suite bathroom, or an open-plan kitchen and family room so you can cook while the kids are watching TV?
For me, it was the piano. I had a small four-octave keyboard I tinkled on from time to time, but it just wasn’t the same. And it was only when I had a piano that my house truly felt like a home.
You see, I grew up with an antique piano, one with faint marks on the lacquered black wood where the candlesticks had once been attached. The keys were yellowed ivory and ebony, a la Stevie Wonder and Paul McCartney, and I spent much of my childhood perched on a stool playing scales and arpeggios and assorted pieces by Bach, Beethoven, and to my eternal shame, Richard Clayderman.
I yearned for a piano, and I could scarcely believe it when I finally managed to afford one. There it stood, gleaming, in pride of place in my lounge. Both of my kids have learnt to play on that piano, I’ve done a few piano exams myself, and we’ve had sing-songs and Christmas carol evenings around it.
But what I realise, as I contemplate what I’d look for in a new home now, is that it’s not really about the piano – it’s about the memories. What makes a home is the people in it, the people who visit it, and the memories they create together.
Home is about that time someone tripped over the dog and fell into the swimming pool, or fell asleep in the middle of dinner, or broke their toe, or managed to spill five litres of Oros all over the kitchen floor (don’t ask). It’s about the tree that fell on the roof, or the time someone’s bed collapsed, or the minor flood when someone left a tap on.
What makes a house a home isn’t the furniture or the décor or whether the bathroom has a bath or a shower. Those things are minor – you can make do until you have time and the budget to fix them up the way you’d like them. As long as it’s wind- and water-proof and functional, you can pretty much live happily anywhere, I reckon.
To really make a house a home, what you need is you, your family and friends, and all the love and laughter and lunacy that memories are made of.
* Originally published on 26 August 2014
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