Edit 62: Pockets
Much as I could extol the merits of pockets in dresses and skirts—at length—that is not what this Edit is about. It’s about the spaces in our family home that I’ve claimed as my favorites for seasonal decorating. Every home has them: small areas—or pockets—that share the things we’ve lovingly curated year after year. There are the obvious spots: the mantel, the stairwell. I love a good entryway display. But some are specific to the nature of how we designed our rooms and the furniture in them, and they turn what could be an ordinary space into something truly reflective of heart and personality.
Without question the sunroom is my favorite spot to gussy up. Take one pillow out, throw a new one in? Check. Rearrange the black rattan bar cart with seasonal glassware and decor? Also check. Switch out the pieces of art above the mantel? Check and check. Our house easily slips from season to season, but no room in the house does it as seamlessly—or beautifully—as this one.
In our dining area there is the perfect amount of wall space for my tansu chest from Japan. It stands tall beneath two beautiful antique lithographs I picked up at a local shopper’s delight: Chinoiserie Squirrel. A well-loved silver tray holds my favorite gold-dotted highball glasses from Fitz and Floyd, mixed in with smaller ones designed with fleurs-de-lis. A NOLA girl through and through, I couldn’t resist brass cocktail picks topped with tiny skulls. The napkins are hemstitched linen, never paper, rolled up in a piece of Japanese pottery. It’s equal parts macabre, fussy, and beautiful, and I love it.
There’s a darling tanuki who stands guard at the front of the tray, and though his own vessel is empty, he still brings luck and welcome to those who choose to fill their glasses. It’s a wonderful mishmash of the life our family has lived over 27 years, all in one place, and in the autumn, it’s surrounded by the rich, velvety curl of golden-brown magnolia leaves.
Of course, with fall comes Halloween, and there are certainly spooky elements in our foyer as well as the space beside the stairs. Flameless tapers flicker all day in vintage-inspired candlesticks, while LED lights dance within terracotta pumpkins. There’s a beautiful black-and-white block print of fishhooks hanging above them, a piece by a local Charlotte artist that remains in place year-round as a reminder of my husband’s home in the Mississippi Delta. During October, it seems more seasonal than sentimental, but it’s definitely a case of “if you know, you know.”
The foyer is on the smaller side—perfect for a pocket—so I keep the decor simple. It could be fun to do something wild and elaborate, but this year I pulled out last year’s wicker cauldrons and filled them with gnarled branches and magnolia leaves. The real star won’t make its debut until Halloween: the candy cauldron, an oversized black plastic one that holds enough sugary sweets to send an army to the dentist. We live in a neighborhood full of families with young children, and every year they come inside to trick-or-treat and dig out handfuls of candy, sometimes more than once. Ours is a street (and home) that is very busy on that evening, so if I’m being honest, keeping things low-maintenance and friendly-ish is the best way to go.
Maybe this is what I love most about these spaces in our home: as we move between seasons they’re never the same, but they bring back familiar things—and much-loved memories—whether the pocket is done up simply or with more panache. A little bit of Japan, a touch of New Orleans flair. Nods to our childhoods. I can spy items from decades past beside recent finds, and together they share a little of our family’s story.
Pockets in dresses I love, but pockets within our home? Those I treasure.
