“The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.” — Maya Angelou

I love homes. Furniture, decorative accessories, window treatments, area rugs, carpets, appliances, lighting, and finishes, both architectural and decorative, take up my full attention. I love everything to do with houses, really. I’m not sure why, but it’s an obsession of mine. Maybe it’s genetics. My mother was the same way. She was a collector of homes, quite literally.

 

Home Ec Lessons from My Parents

My mother amassed around twenty-five rental properties in her lifetime and managed them to support our large family. She decorated constantly, shopping for furniture to fill her own house, her children’s homes, and others she planned to sell. She could stage a room beautifully, bringing a decorative scene to life.

But she wasn’t much of a housekeeper. She didn’t like cleaning or cooking, and by the time I came along (the last of a large brood), she was thoroughly done with home management. My father, a military man with a knack for order, took over. He handled the cooking, cleaning, and laundry with precision. He was tidy, practical, and organized. And, he also had a great eye for design. As a flamboyant dresser and world traveler, he filled his bachelor home with bold mid-century furniture and treasures collected from his years in Africa and Asia.

Watching those two opposites — my mother’s decorative flair and my father’s discipline — I learned early that a home could be both expressive and orderly. I paid close attention. At first, I wanted to define myself against my mother’s laissez-faire approach. I was determined to do homemaking “right.”

Cue my Martha Stewart phase. I bought an enormous book called Home Comforts: The Art and Science of Keeping House by Cheryl Mendelson and started reading.

 

Discovering the Art of Housekeeping

Home Comforts is a doorstopper of a book (906 pages) and reads like an encyclopedia of domestic life. It covers everything from laundry labels and food safety to the proper way to vacuum upholstery. These days, you could Google most of it in seconds, but that’s not the point. 

The magic of the book is Mendelson’s defense of the work itself, her argument that keeping house isn’t a chore or a necessary evil, but something affirmatively good.

“Housekeeping creates cleanliness, order, regularity, beauty, the conditions for health and safety, and a good place to do and feel all the things you wish and need to do and feel in your home. Whether you live alone or with a spouse, parents, and ten children, it is your housekeeping that makes your home alive, that turns it into a small society in its own right, a vital place with its own ways and rhythms, the place where you can be more yourself than you can be anywhere else.” — Excerpt from Home Comforts: The Art and Science of Keeping House by Cheryl Mendelson

That passage has stayed with me. It reframed what “keeping house” means. It’s not something to drudge through, but a celebration of creating comfort. 

 

Reading vs. Doing

I read that book cover to cover, which is saying something. It’s dense! But I quickly discovered that I preferred reading about housekeeping to actually doing it. Unless, of course, you define housekeeping as creating beautiful rooms. That, I can do all day. (And good thing, because it’s my duty as the leader of an Austin interior design firm.) 

Still, I love the home arts. I’m fascinated by the crafts of baking, organizing, mending, and styling. Even when I’m not especially skilled at something, I admire those who are. There’s a meditative quality to these acts, a rhythm that connects us to the generations before us who did them out of love, necessity, or both.

And baking happens to be my current happy place. I make my cakes from scratch, decorate them with frosting roses I pipe myself, and whip up fondant, meringue, caramel, fudge, pavlova, crepes, and almond croissants. That’s my version of relaxation: sugar, butter, and a quiet kitchen.

 

What Makes a Home Comfortable

As a designer, I often think about what truly makes a home comfortable. It’s more than style or square footage. It’s systems that work, like a reliable HVAC, safe wiring, soft lighting that warms the evening, windows that keep out noise but let in morning light.

It’s also sensory, like the smell of something baking, the hush of plush carpet underfoot, the glow of a lamp in a reading corner. These are design choices, yes, but they’re also emotional choices. They shape how we feel, how we rest, and how we relate to one another.

Good window treatments, for instance, don’t just look beautiful. They protect our privacy and, let’s be honest, let us peek out when curiosity calls. Good design is practical and human all at once.

 

Homemaking for the Modern Age

I never get tired of the art of making a home, albeit in my own way. After all these years, I still find it endlessly interesting, both in my own life and in my work for clients through my Austin interior design studio. Every project teaches me something new about what people really need to feel at home.

At Amity Worrel & Co., we describe our work as “design for better living”, and that’s not just a tagline. It’s a philosophy. A home, no matter how beautiful or well-appointed, is still just a room until people fill it with life. Design sets the stage, but the people who reside there, with all their quirks, rituals, and laughter, bring the story to life.

A home becomes alive in the everyday acts: folding laundry, lounging on the sofa, chatting with a friend, baking something sweet, or sitting quietly with a book. Those are the moments that turn four walls into a refuge.

So when I think of homemaking today, I don’t see it as outdated or old-fashioned. I see it as the art of caring for life itself, a kind of creative stewardship that makes space for beauty, comfort, and belonging.

And that’s the kind of design I’ll always champion.