What’s hanging on YOUR walls?

It’s “You Tell Us Day” here at the Debutante Ball! What’s hanging on your walls? If you feel inspired to blog about the topic, drop a link to your blog entry in the comments!

PS – Time is running out to apply for next year’s class of Debutantes! If you’re a debut author, check out our “Got Pearls?” link on the sidebar! The deadline is July 15 (tomorrow)!!

5 thoughts on “What’s hanging on YOUR walls?

  1. Paris is hanging on my walls. And covers my bed. Ooh la la! When I turned 40, my darling husband was out of work. He gave me a beautiful card with a love note (that sounds more romantic than an I.O.U) for a trip to Paris. Well, with three girls with autism, leaving the county is next to impossible – leaving the country paralyzes me! There aren’t many people with the stamina to watch them for a week. Not even my Mom, who is great with them.

    So I gaze at my walls and know that the city of light is there, waiting for Mark and me to visit. Tell me there’s a wheelchair ramp to the Eiffel Tower? By the time we get there, I’ll need it!

  2. I have a nintendo poster with Mario on. I just love those games, otherwise I have some old posters with artists I really liked about 5 years ago or so. Definately will save my Mario poster when I move.

  3. My walls are a total hodgepodge of framed photos of the kids, Sponge Bob posters (thankfully not in my bedroom), a few meaningful prints, a few not-so-meaningful prints, mirrors (my house isn’t that big and the mirrors make the rooms seem larger) and lots and lots of fingerprint smudges (I’ve got three boys) that I really need to wipe down!

  4. In my dining room I have a shelf displaying toys handed down from my grandmother. The house I have was built the year she started her family.

    In my home office I have photos of crime victims around the walls, to remind me that the cases I follow and write about are not about legal maneuvers and lawyers–they are about real human suffering. These photos, of people who never saw the shotgun aiming at their backs, urge me on to give them voice and make them count. Walking down the street in peace is something no one should take for granted.

    Gramma’s toys remind me I’m just one in a line of people with the same DNA who were young then old. We are all connected and echoing each other from the way we fold our towels (“Three times, lambie”) to the emotional baggage we are handing down. The toys inspire me that a lifetime is short and it’s my job to improve on something from what came before, just as Gramma made improvements during her time at the helm.

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