Another seating area

There is a YouTube real estate enthusiast named Enes Yilmazer who makes videos (filmed by his son) in which he tours mansions, yachts, and other high-end facilities of the Rich and Famous. Many of the properties he films are on the market, and he works with the realtors representing the properties to showcase the amenities. We're talking homes worth tens or even hundreds of millions of dollars.

Once in a while I'll watch one of his videos to catch a glimpse of how the upper crust lives. The vast majority of the time, Mr. Yilmazer is showcasing some sleek and modern monstrosity that doesn't appeal to me at all. Still, it's interesting brain candy to view during down time.

A random moment from one such video (I can't remember which one) stuck in my head. In the clip, Mr. Yilmazer walked from one wing of a house to another, and he passed by a large area that held an expensive sectional couch but was otherwise empty. He waved casually toward the couch and said, "And another seating area..." in passing as he made his way toward the other wing.

It was the way he said "And another seating area..." that stuck in my head, because I remember thinking, "Seating area for whom?" The house he was showcasing was so massive, and it already had so many other "seating areas," that I'm certain no one would ever frequent this remote and forgotten sectional couch at all. It just needed some sort of furniture to fill an otherwise vacant space.

And here's the thing: The room/corridor through which Mr. Yilmazer was passing easily surpassed in size the footprint of our own home.

I thought about this recently because our house is currently in chaos, cluttered with the detritus that comes from living, working, and engaging in projects within the confines of 1,000 square feet.

In the living room, there was a pile of towels on the coffee table, burying a pot of heated milk to make cheese culture.

In the library, I was drying flannel sheets on racks (I have to dry everything indoors during the winter, of course).

Next to the clothes-drying racks are crates of ripening spaghetti squash. The ones in the top-most crate will be going to church with us to pass out to interested congregants (hence the sign, which reads "Spaghetti squash – help yourself).

As usual, the kitchen was the most active room of all. Older Daughter was engaged in a large production run of tankards, and in winter many steps involving glue must be done indoors.

On the stove, she was cooking a meal.

In one corner, we had put aside a few gallons of drinking water in preparation for the anticipated power outages from last week's wind storm.

In another corner, washed and cleaned milking buckets, milk containers, and a fresh block of cheddar cheese air drying before I wax it.

Anyway, you get the idea. The house was a mess.

But here's the thing: It's a mess because we use it. We live here. We work here. Once in a while, we even entertain here (at which point, of course, we clean it up). We have no interest in, or space for, a distant unused "seating area."

We've known people with large homes. Some friends who were in the potluck rotation at our last place had a massive and gorgeous home that easily held dozens of people, during which time their seating areas were in constant use.

For those whose focus is entertaining (and not homesteading, like us), there seems to be a breaking point in home size. Up to a point, a large home's square footage is an advantage, with space enough for gracious hosting. Beyond that point, however, you get lost and distant seating areas forever unused, but which must still be furnished, cleaned, and heated.

Our home is small and sometimes chaotic, but at least I can honestly say we use every square inch of it.