I was watching Downton Abbey the other day and a conversation between the dowager countess and Lord Robert was taking place. They were arguing over how much Robert cared for Downton Abbey and Robert proclaimed:

Can you imagine ever feeling so passionately about your home that you perceive it as both a parent and child? A friend from work and I were discussing this quote and she said that her mother, who grew up in England, believes that Americans are very house proud. But I think we, versus the English, have a different type of house pride.

Think about it… the American dream is owning a ginormous house which signals our ascent to wealth and success. It’s living in a showcase of our own reflection, a testament to our good taste. In essence, we own our homes, they do not own us.

I read an article a few years ago in which the author wrote that he was simply be the keeper of his estate. He was the guard for this generation, responsible only for seeing that his children would takeover that role someday. He was almost a slave to his home, it owned him and dictated certain aspects of his life

But maybe this isn’t a cultural difference. Perhaps its just when you inherit a home or antiques with great significance, whether historic or sentimental, you feel a connection unbeknownst to others. It can’t be that the home is a burden to you, but that its value and importance almost surpasses your own. Is that totally crazy?

I’m curious, what do you think? Do you own your home or does it own you? Is it a burden or are you its guardian?

I met the lovely Shoko at Blogshop back in September. Ever since I’ve been following her blog, Sho and Tell, which is such a breath of fresh air. I can always count on Shoko to restore some sense of tranquility to my day. Her tastes seem to run towards the gorgeous and sublime. I believe she may get that from her grandmother…

Like many twenty-somethings who have relocated to cities far from home, I‘ve had to furnish my new digs (or, to be accurate, my room in the apartment I share with two roommates) on a budget. IKEA bed frame here, CB2 vase there. When I first moved to New York, my financial restrictions combined with a paralyzing fear of bed bugs (no thrift store décor for me!) caused me, more often than not, to shy away from all things used, and settle for unoriginal.

So when Erin invited me to contribute a Sentimental Salvage, I initially drew a blank. The only items I’ve salvaged have come from Anthropologie sale racks, I thought. Then, I remembered.

I brought these pieces of dishware – a stout little sugar bowl and a striped soy sauce dispenser – home from a recent trip to Japan. My mother, who’s in the process of cleaning out my grandparents’ house in Tokyo, saw me admiring them one morning and encouraged me to take them home.

I don’t know the history behind them, but I love that these pieces — that once sat on my grandparents’ kitchen shelf in Tokyo — now have a home in my New York City apartment. My grandmother was a legendary cook, so I also like to think that maybe, just maybe, some of her culinary know-how will rub off on me when I use her things.

These pieces, though small, are part of my family’s history. I think they’re beautiful – I especially adore the colored stripes – and they bring to mind many happy memories of meals I’ve shared with people I love. I’m so happy, and so grateful, to have them.

Absolutely beautiful! I, too, adore those stripes! Thank you Shoko!

Images by Shoko