guestroom — chapter 4
settle in
There's a point when you have to stop looking at a guest room and imagine actually staying in it. Where does the suitcase go? Is there somewhere to charge a phone? Can I get ready without waiting for the bathroom? And if everyone else stays up later than I do, can I disappear upstairs and still watch my favorite show? These things may not change how the room looks, but they can change how someone feels while they're there.
That's what the last part of this room became about: the person who would eventually stay here. A place for their things. A few comforts they might not expect. Something that makes the room feel less like mine for a few days and a little more like theirs.
The guestbook may say it best. A dear friend gave it to me when I bought my first home, and it has come along with me ever since. The room may be finished, but thankfully, the guestbook isn't.
you belong here
field notes
what's in the nightstand?
There are books for every mood.Goodnight Girls has earned a permanent place, as has Awkward Family Photos, which contains photographic evidence of my brother-in-law's wedding. I won't be taking questions. There's also a local trail map. I live near dozens of mountain trailheads, which is wonderful right up until a casual morning hike becomes an unexpected tour of the other side of the mountain. And there's a retro book celebrating the 2002 Salt Lake City Winter Olympics. It's even more exciting now that the Games are returning to Utah in 2034, with events once again planned for Snowbasin. Consider the nightstand equal parts entertainment, local orientation, and gentle warning.
Turning the closet into a vanity wasn't just about making an interesting corner. When friends or family stay—especially when there are other guests—the bathroom can get crowded quickly. A mirror, stool, lighting, and a little space of their own means someone can get ready for dinner or wind down for bed. The television above the dresser gives them another bit of independence. Sometimes everyone needs somewhere to disappear for a while.
making space for you
A dear friend gave me the guestbook when I bought my first home. I called the house Chez Coraline because it reminded me of the home in Coraline, one of my favorite movies. It was old, beautiful, slightly mysterious, and very much a fixer-upper. Dark corners? Plenty. Mice? Occasionally. Quirky neighbors? Absolutely. When I moved farther into the mountains, the name came with me and became Chez Coraline à la Montagne. The guestbook came too. The mice and quirky neighbors did not. I liked the idea that a new house didn't require starting a new story. Now the same pages hold people and memories from both homes, with plenty of room for whoever comes next.
sign here, please
watch