Here’s a design trick to file away in your brains: Never ever ignore the ceiling.  It’s often why tract houses can feel boring. It’s why many historic houses are so off-the-charts charming. And it’s something my clients and I spend a lot of time figuring out when building their homes. In each room — what are we doing to the ceiling?

When Tyson and I bought Camp Sterling, we had planned to raise the ceiling up a foot or two, but upon meeting with inspectors and contractors, we learned that we’ll need a new roof in 3-5 years. And by the time we’ve raised all the ceilings, it could be just as cost effective to take the whole roof off — so that’s what we will do.

Our ceiling plan is now wide open, and I’m of two minds.

The trend in Arcadia these days is the modern farmhouse – complete with beams and vaulted ceilings. Tyson and I have walked through some gorgeous remodels with peaks soaring high, like these:

Above: Clements Design

Above: Arcanum Architecture

Above: J. Banks Design Group

And I love to do the Arcadia farmhouse look for clients. But I’m more of a  modern traditional girl who wants to wake up in Paris in the 1940s, with no agriculture in sight. (Except perhaps for a country weekend – with lemonade and a picnic.)

Which brings me to my second idea – the coffered ceiling. We’d raise the ceiling height to 11′ and the coffers drop down from there. There are a couple of cool ways to do this — with MDF, with traditional framing, or with actual millwork. Either way, just add trim. Lots and lots of trim.

Which would you do?

Vaulted?

Or coffered?

On this cold morning, Camp Sterling feels distinctly like my grandparents’ house. There is far-flung family here, which means bacon crisping in the kitchen, and orange juice and tulips on the table. The halls are filled with the sound of long, hot showers being taken ward off the chill. Beds are deep with blankets and loosely made. Hair at the breakfast table resembles the crumpled sheets.

I have a glimpse of what this house was meant for, and the lives this house has held.

And this morning, I only feel joy. Our house is going to have another beautiful life.

When we moved into our previous house, I was thrilled to have my first guest room (pictured below). I had visions of friends coming for long weekends to discover chocolates on their pillows, piles of white towels in the bathroom, and breakfast tacos and fresh juice in the morning.

I hung a canopy, bought new towels and kept the sheets bleached and crisp, but no one ever came to stay in our guest room — except my mom, who lives in Gilbert. (She is such a nice mom.)

Tonight, we are having our first proper out-of-town guest. And, of course, our guest will be coming to stay at Camp. In a room with faux wood paneling over one window and drapes hung with string over another. The hostessing gods really have it out for me.

(Dear Kip, we are still totally excited that you’re coming.)

Our former guest room – photo by Isaac Bailey

Our guest is Tyson’s brother Kip, and last night – Tyson pulled up all the remaining carpet tack strips in his honor.

I set about pulling together the perfect guest room — and oh, the dichotomies. Kip and Tyson will tease me about this for years to come. These are my requirements:

1. Chocolates on the pillow. Tyson’s mom does this for me, and it always makes me feel like she was excited that we were coming. Tyson plans to tell Kip that it’s his dinner.

2. Fresh flowers on the nightstand — and in the bathroom, and on the dining room table. May our guest not notice the garden of weeds in the backyard.

3. An extra blanket folded at the end of the bed. May our guest be protected against our 55-year-old windows that happen to let in as much cold air as a screen door.

4. A stack of fluffy white towels  – always white. They feel more fresh and clean. (These are my favorite.)  May our guest not notice the linoleum, which seems to have been stained in one corner with purple hair dye.

5. Mini toiletries in the bathroom. Ours are from the Ritz Carlton. Howl.

6. Quick and delicious breakfast provisions in the fridge — bacon, scrambled eggs, orange juice, and avocado toast. (Cook the bacon and whisk the eggs the night before to make the morning prep go extra fast.)

7. On the nightstand: a card with the wifi password, along with an extra house key on a large and distinctive key ring. (This one is cute.) The key ring ensures your key will come back.

8. Also, there’s a water bottle — a helpful gesture in any space and particularly at Camp – where the hall lights don’t work and our guest could get lost trying to find the kitchen in the night.

9. That reminds me. I should probably leave him a flashlight.

“How did Betty blow-dry her hair?” my husband wants to know as we examine the bathrooms, searching in vain for an outlet for my hair dryer.

Again, I think of my Granna, and realize that Betty probably didn’t. She went once a week to the beauty parlor to have it set.

I feel a flash of joy and tell my husband that I could absolutely go to the blow dry bar myself a few times a week.

He cleared his throat.

And the electrician arrived Friday afternoon.

There are now outlets in the bathroom, along with new but inexpensive vanity lights so that I can see to do my makeup, and an improved light fixture in the dining room — at my husband Tyson’s request, because he thought the ceiling fan was ugly.

And for Valentine’s Day, Tyson tore out all of the carpet in the living room, the hallway, and the dining room — “so that we can eat dinner,” he said, “without being grossed out.”

I have named our temporary home “Camp Sterling,” after my husband’s last name.

I’m feeling a little better about things, but I’ve never been any good camping.

My friend George insists we don’t have it that bad. When he moved into his house in the Encanto historic district, he says, there was a toilet in the entry. And it worked.

My friend Rebecca thinks we should have a ’60s-themed party the night before renovation begins — in honor of our retro home. She suggests serving mini gherkins on toothpicks and wearing a floral apron with a beehive hairdo. Also, there must be doilies everywhere.

She said this after I sent her a photo of the pink tile in the bathroom and the wallpaper in the kitchen.

This weekend, I painted over the wallpaper in the kitchen. I couldn’t take it any more.

(And yes, painting over wallpaper is a huge no-no, but in 6 months those walls are coming down.)

I’ve been told that Bunny — our home’s former patriarch — was a bit OCD about home improvements and doing things his way. Bunny also lived through the Great Depression, which means that every penny was probably precious. Bunny sounds like my Grandfather.

I can tell that Bunny installed this wallpaper — which makes much creative use of “patches.” I’m quite certain he installed the lock on the back door — which requires a key inserted on both sides of the lock to function, which means that last week, when my husband took the key, he unwittingly locked me inside the house.

Bunny also put up faux wood paneling in the two back bedrooms — which I also painted over this weekend, and which will also be eventually coming down.

Because Bunny installed the paneling over two windows.

Oh, Bunny.