Happy New Year! Happy Carnival!
Just before Christmas, we participated in our neighborhood's annual historic home tour. Y'all: I was not amused when Colin first announced that he'd accepted the invitation extended by the historic association. My mind flooded with visions of crawling around magic eraser-ing the baseboards and scrubbing windowsills. There's a pretty high degree of prep before welcoming 800 strangers with cameras to walk through your house with the express goal of inspecting it. But even if it felt a little odd as those strangers strolled around commenting on the curtains and paint colors, we actually enjoyed and benefited from the experience. It gave us a reason to take care of a million little maintenance jobs we otherwise probably never would have (also: I may have snuck in some "it's for the house tour" purchases). Plus, we loved hearing little tales about the neighborhood from some elderly visitors.
We love our historic home built around 1918, and I never get tired of thinking about how much life has happened here—but life usually looks like random socks crumpled on the floor, dog toys strewn across the couch, piles of paperwork stacked in the kitchen. Since all the things were simultaneously clean and sparkling for one glorious day, I took some photos. (If you'd like, you can click here to read the story of how we bought it as a well-worn fixer upper from Craigslist and restored it without knowing one single thing about restoration and renovation.)
Welcome in!
We have a red front door because shortly after we first moved in, a local studio used our house as a set for their short film. They painted the formerly blue door and we loved it! Always trust the artists.
My grandfather made the stained glass piece. I love looking at it when I sit here to put on my shoes most days.
Some of my most favorite sentimental objects live on these shelves: train tickets to Lisieux, a sketch of an old family home in the Garden District (a different Elmer house!), and our prized Zulu coconuts. Shout out to St John Paul II's lesser known, often underrated Rise, Let Us Be on Our Way.
Some views of the living room, complete with a glimpse of our integrated Advent tree. P.S. These pillow covers are insanely good and affordable. They come in pairs, are high-quality, and look and feel high end; I've bought them in multiple colors and sizes over and over.
I thrifted that dreamy fishing boat painting for just a few dollars, and then directed the kiddos in painting improved clouds and waves. They loved signing their initials to the canvas. We also painted a name on the boat that has a special meaning for our family. I also thrifted and painted both these lamps as an alternative to buying this $300 lamp that I loved. Many if not most of our furniture and decor is thrifted, secondhand, or passed along from our families.
The lovely Willow Tree creche was a gift from my parents, and I have since made the same set one of my go-to gifts. It's especially great for young adults and newlyweds who need a beautiful creche to celebrate Christmas even when they're sitting around on milk crates and drinking cheap eggnog from old Mardi Gras cups.
Driftwood from our beloved Dauphin Island. Now’s a good time to mention how much we love these floors. The original wood planks are mismatched with visible dents, nails, and homemade repairs. When we refinished them, we could have erased all the blemishes, but we didn't—we loved the way they make visible the invisible love and life that has gone before. Bonus: The mixed-up grain, rustic finish, and texture conceal drips and splatters and footprints. And the stain—not too dark (shows everything) or too light (shows everything)—shows virtually nothing. The black and white tile replaced cracked linoleum installed in the 1950s. As much as we adore the look, these pretty solid tiles are overachievers at showing dirt.
Everyone's favorite room of the house. The windows here absolutely sold us.
These house numbers are the only thing that survived from my grandparents' home after Katrina. When we pulled them off the house, they were still covered in Katrina sludge. I can't tell y'all how precious these numbers are to me.
We brought home this Miraculous Medal intaglio from the Paris chapel where Our Lady appeared to St Catherine Labouré and requested the medal's creation. Paris may not be known as a pilgrimage destination, but it should be—Paris radiates with treasures of the saints and the Faith.
We have lots of original art around the house, especially in the kitchen—some of it thrifted, some of it gifted, and some of it my own work. I painted this little one as gift for Colin—it's one of the most important places in the world to him.
I brought home most of the crucifixes hanging around the house from college semester abroad (I can only imagine what my suitcase looked like to security screening, haha). I bought the headboard from a Craigslist seller who also tried to get me to buy his actual house when I went to pick up the headboard (???).
One of my favorite things in our bedroom are the thrifted portraits that happen to look like our children. In spring, these windows are entirely filled with a view of bright fuchsia azaleas—pure Louisiana glory.
We have two vintage bathrooms with iconic pink and peach tile—definitely not my first choice (or second, seventh, or seventieth choice), but a long time ago we decided that the exquisite craftsmanship from a bygone era deserved to exist. We just let it be and worked around it. I still wouldn't plan a pink or peach bathroom from scratch, but I can't imagine these rooms any other way. The framed prints are from Paris flea markets.
Through this historic (read: old) house, there are hardly any wall switches for the lights. Bonus to the museum-worthy turn of the century wiring: another spot to tie festive bows.
Thanks for being here! We hope y'all come again soon. We promise next time it won't be so clean.
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