On Sundays, most children are happy sleeping in, playing computer games, and dreading Monday. I was not most children. I was happiest touring open houses. From Victorians to ranches, capes, cabins, or contemporaries, I was fascinated by the layouts, the furnishings, the neighborhoods, and the endless ways to make a house a home. After touring with my encouraging family, I’d play house in our basement, imagining the house we’d seen that day was mine. Sometimes, unbeknownst to my poor parents, I’d even invite friends over to “my house” for a tea party. After all, every home needs a housewarming, right?
Twenty something years later, my fascination has not ceased, but has instead been catalyzed by a career in real estate and a hobby of hosting. So, I am excited to host you here at Playhouse where I explore the homes and stories of my New England neighbors.
The inspiration for Playhouse did not come from a mansion in Newport, a chalet in Stowe, or a townhouse on Beacon Hill, but rather a two-bedroom, one-bathroom, parquet-floored apartment in a nondescript building of Midtown Manhattan. It came from my first adult(ish) home, 6A.
After graduating from college, I, and nearly all my friends, moved to New York City. Specifically, I moved to 6A, an apartment my parents were generous enough to buy and then lease to me at a serious discount to market rent. At just 875 square feet, the recently renovated unit was a blank slate that I could not wait to decorate. Any extra money I had went towards candles, throws, frames, pillows, and more pillows.
I remember being so proud to invite my friends over for the first time, knowing that visit would be just one of many. Right I was; 6A soon became our refuge from the City. 6A is where we celebrated birthdays, holidays, new jobs, old jobs, and maybe even a break-up or two. 6A is where we had too much wine and not enough sleep every single Sunday Night Dinner. 6A is where we went to get better, relay news, and, most importantly, execute pranks. Yes, 6A soon became our refuge from the City and, so too, an arena of our twenties.
6A became my home. 6A is where I got dressed for my first day of my first job. 6A is where I studied for the GMAT, where I found out I got into grad school. 6A is where I wrote my thesis, where I practiced presentations into the bathroom mirror. 6A is where I honed cooking and hosting, where I wrote menus, set tables, and finally sat down to break bread. 6A is where I became “Mama Mere” among friends. 6A is where I became me.
Almost exactly five years to the day Mom and Dad purchased 6A, they sold 6A. The sale was at my recommendation, at my decision to move on. So, I carefully packed all my candles, throws, frames, pillows, and more pillows. I also took with me my memories as well as my newfound appreciation – a beautiful home is not a function of space or price, but rather of people and stories. I can’t wait to hear yours.
