Wallflowers and wallpaper

The dining room in my family home in America has been adorned with gaudy gold-toned floral wallpaper for decades. The large flowers are not to everyone’s liking, but I’ve always loved them. It’s bold and not afraid to stand out. And my memories of mealtime are coloured by the glare of 1970s flair. Indeed, it has always brought me such joy that I mused about taking a bit down to frame for my home one day.

So, when I was clearing out an old attic crawlspace at the family home last winter, I was overjoyed to find a couple of rolls of wallpaper! One of which made its way home with me, where I had a large section framed and hung in the dining room – just in time for my family to visit from the Homeland.

Framing this piece of wallpaper from my family home feels like a small act of preservation, but also a way of weaving my childhood home and memories into the home I’m building for myself now. It’s remarkable how a pattern on a wall – something a bit gaudy and outdated – can become a touchstone for memory, belonging, and continuity once the house itself is no longer part of my everyday life. Bringing this piece of my childhood dining room into my own dining room isn’t just about décor; it’s about carrying forward the atmosphere that shaped me.

Of course, my childhood home was also my adult home. You see, I never really moved out until I got married (at 31). And then, when Paul died and I said goodbye to the home we created together, I returned home. And when I returned to Scotland, the family home became my American anchor.

It means that meals in the dining room extended well into my adult life. Meals filled with memories of laughter and conversation with my parents. And they really did make sure I had all the meals!

There’s something joyful about turning a piece of wallpaper into art. It transforms the everyday into something intentional. Wallpaper is designed to blend into the background, but when framed, it becomes a focal point – an object to look at rather than something to simply live alongside.

Framing this wallpaper feels meaningful because it preserves a physical link to a place that shaped me. Not in a nostalgic, frozen-in-time way, but in a way that acknowledges the layers of life lived there. It’s a reminder that home isn’t just where we live now; it’s also the places that taught us what home feels like.

And, of course, it brings family history into my present home. My dining room is now connected to the one I grew up in, creating a quiet thread between my past and my present. It turns memory into something visible; instead of relying on recollection alone, I have a piece of that room I can see every day.

I imagine guests noticing it and asking about it, giving me the chance to share the story. But even if no one asks, I’ll know. It will be a quiet anchor in the room, a reminder of where I come from and the people who shaped me.