Name it and claim it

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I promised to tell you something new and interesting about my house.

First we’ll have some context.

If there is one thing about me that will be true one hundred percent of the time, it’s that, no matter where I am, I would probably rather be at home.

My paternal grandmother's maiden name was Freeman

It’s not that I’m not having a good time … at least sometimes. Or maybe even most of the time.

(My next post will thoroughly cover that topic, so stay tuned and watch this space.)

But by and large, overall, my desire is towards the domicile. In fact, I think that the word domestic pretty much defines me as much as any other.

Betty, doing her job well

I’m sure that if someone were taking a scan of my brain, the kind that shows different areas lighting up at various stimuli, mine would glow at an impressive wattage at whatever part of it was activated by thought or mention of domesticity.

I know I’m not all that unusual; the vast majority of people are most comfortable at home. After all, it’s the one place where you can be yourself and relax to the utmost extent, without judgment or prying eyes.

But for me, the idea of home is all wrapped up in safety and comfort and peace and quiet and identity and personality and hospitality and tranquility and rest. It is in every sense a sanctuary.

I like stuff hanging around

Again, I realize I’m not unusual in that respect.

And although I’m not a person that anyone would describe as outdoorsy (don’t ask me on a hike because I will politely decline), I love being in nature and I have always been grateful for our back-of-house pool area.

This year, circumstances allowed us to make some improvements in that area of our property, that were badly needed and most welcome, and which have been thoroughly enjoyed.

Rock or swing: your choice

Namely, we tore down our old privacy fence and had a new one built (there’s a story in that too, and maybe I’ll tell it to you soon), and we installed a new pool liner, and we had some landscaping done.

Our new fence is red cedar in the cap and trim style, and the builders made it eight feet high on the right side, where our neighbors have put not one but two hideous sheds.

We inherited this bell with the old fence in 2005

TG stained it in the color that I chose, and put up all of my things on it, and it is truly beautiful.

Here’s the thing about my pool area: I want lots of certain things. Things that are pretty to look at. Lots of lights. Lots of plants. Lots of flowers. Lots of hummingbird feeders. Lots of wind chimes. Lots of pillows and cushions. Lots of places to sit and to swing. Lots of shade.

And although there are still a few details that need our attention, this year I was able to do all of that.

Randall busily cleaning

We got a pool vacuum for the first time ever — in fact, we have one for the bottom and one for the top. The one that scours the floor of the pool, we call Randall. The one that skims the top is named Betty. 

Together they get the job done.

The last time we had a new pool liner installed was the spring of 2011. It was still technically functional but badly faded and needed to be replaced.

The first nod to autumn

We learned that pool liners now cost twice as much and, due to new government regulations put in place since 2011 having to do with how they break down in landfills, will last perhaps half the length of time that the older ones did.

(Folks, get used to it: you will pay more and get less, and you will be required to like it. Probably from here on out.)

The numbers were on our old door

But once the fence was up, and the pool liner installed, and new pine straw put down and the flowers planted and all the lights and feeders and chimes hung and mounted and filled and arranged, our pool area became a truly special place. Like a dream come true.

We swam and splashed and dove and paddled and floated and lolled in and beside that pool significantly more this summer, than we have in recent years. It was such a blessing.

I got this swing chair on Temu

In fact, Dagny and I swam just yesterday, on the last day of summer. The water was still eighty-two degrees, and the high ambient temperature was ninety.

The hummingbirds are still here. They swoop and dive and dart from our queen palms to the feeders and back to the palms, then over to the oak tree, perching on twigs before chasing each other, chattering all the way, to the mini jungle on the other side.

I like lots of flags too

It has been delightful and I will miss it; I have been in the pool nearly every day this summer. The days and nights will be cooler now, and the glories of autumn will occupy our time, keeping us indoors more as the weeks go by.

I wish that each one of you reading this could come and see me, and stay for a few days, and sit with us outside in our pool area. Consider yourself invited. But wait.

The hummers have drained it several times

Recently I was scrolling through Instagram for a few minutes and saw a reel about bougie things to do to your house, that don’t cost much but which make it stand up and be counted in a unique way.

And the first thing on the list was to give your house a name. It’s a distinctly southern thing to do, but also a trend that has seen a resurgence in recent times, mostly due to social media.

The knockout roses are fixing to bloom again

But naming houses is nothing new; I grew up reading classic literature, much of which takes place in Europe and the UK, and honestly aren’t all houses named there? But it’s done everywhere, and not just in books.

The doomed Rebecca DeWinter’s successor dreamt of Manderley; Jane Eyre longed for Thornfield Hall, and Elizabeth Bennett ended up at Pemberley. Scarlett had Tara and Elvis had Graceland. Martha Stewart has Cantitoe Corners. The McCormicks had Cantigny, and I have been there.

Now, to be fair, I had considered naming my house before, but only in a fleeting way and not with any real intent. Last year, as we played in the water, Dagny and I talked a lot about naming the pool area Shrimpy Shores or Prawn Paradise.

It is nothing if not welcoming

Which is just silly because I wouldn’t name my house or my yard after seafood. But then we were just goofing around and laughing a lot about it.

This time though, the idea stuck in me pirate brain and I began seriously mulling the idea of coming up with a name for my house.

I knew that the notion would have to develop organically; I would need to let my mind work on it in the background and, eventually, it would come to me. There was no hurry. The name would emerge and when it did, I would recognize it.

This gazing ball came with the house too

One morning a few weeks ago, I did what I do every day: I launched a game called Spellbee that I keep open on my desktop and work at little by little, until I solve the puzzle much later in the day.

It consists of seven letters, arranged in a hive-like pattern around a single letter, which must feature in every word. You study it and come up with as many words as you can until you’ve guessed them all.

And on this particular day, the moment I saw the puzzle, I knew what my house’s name would be. I mean, I saw it immediately.

Pea gravel and solar lights along the retaining wall

The letters were RMVOINE. Arranged with six in a circle around a middle one (I don’t remember which letter was in the center).

But what I saw was MON REVE.

Which in French means, MY DREAM.

Several precious pets are buried here

And voilà! Our house had its name: Mon Reve. The place I always dream of being.It’s a gentle nod to my parents, who were both from Louisiana, with its Creole French roots. My father was born and grew up in Shreveport, and my mother, though born in Mississippi, was reared in Baton Rouge.

Now, if you think this is dumb, it’s okay to think that. If you think it’s pretentious and over the top, that’s okay too. And if you’re nice about it, you can even say so.

The slightest breeze and you hear a chime

My son did, haha. Andrew looked at me like I’d lost my mind when I told him I’d named our house Mon Reve. He said words to the effect that it was the most ridiculous thing he’d heard in a long time. Like, really, Mom???

Yes like really, I said. And he shrugged. He doesn’t have to live here and he doesn’t have to name his house. It’s an individual thing.

TG, however, liked the idea right away. He thinks it’s neat. Stephanie remarked that it’s so YOU, Mom! Haha. Audrey and Erica like it too. Erica says she’s going to name her house the Pig Pen.

This umbrella lights up

Which truly is ridiculous, since her house is not only clean but completely charming.

I set to work shopping on Etsy for a way to brand my house with its new name. And I found it in an Amish shop that does custom metal creations. I ordered a sign heavy on scrollwork to match the design element that is prevalent on my front door and in the house’s wrought iron accents.

The view from my kitchen

And TG hung it for me, right beside our house numbers.

Next is to come up with a signature scent (I’m working on that), which will waft through the rooms, and merch. 

So that when (not if) you come to see me, and spend the night, you will leave not only well rested and amply fed and all of your comforts seen to, but also with some material reminder of your stay at Mon Reve.

My Dream

It may be a coffee mug; it may be a fridge magnet. It could be a t-shirt. I have not decided yet. Maybe we'll even have an app. Just kidding.

What I have decided is that although the house where I dwell is not necessarily my dream house, it is the place where I love most to be, and where it is the most comforting and comfortable for me to be.

I imagine it will be, until the day break, and the shadows flee away!

And that is all for now.

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Happy Tuesday :: Happy Fall