Lately
I’ve been thinking about what defines a home.
Not
a house, but a home. You see my husband and I have just moved into a new (old)
home. We purchased a single-level house we can grow old in and hopefully remain
in our house for a long time. Surprisingly I’ve discovered a growing fondness
for the grab bars in the bathrooms—who knew what joy a grab bar could give?
Unfortunately, the house needs remodeling. The previous owners had a penchant
for wallpaper on the ceilings. What is up with that? Here’s a picture of the
garden growing on my new kitchen ceiling.
Eeeeck.
So
my husband and I are currently surrounded by our “stuff” hidden in boxes and
piled high in the dining room. Our furniture is packed into the living room,
all to make room for remodeling.
For
some reason, this house does not yet feel like home. Why? Is it because I am
surrounded by someone else’s taste in decorating? Is it because my beloved
Danish Modern items are hidden away? Or is it because I miss our old house of
fifteen years? My husband is here, so it should feel like home. But instead, it
feels like a hotel in Scotland with questionable wallpaper (spend some time
staying at Scottish B&Bs and you know what I mean).
What
makes a place home? Many find comfort in communities of shared interest, like
retirement communities. Some call a place home because their family and friends
are nearby. Or they have lived in the same place for a long time and love their
town or city.
Several
days after we moved in, came the first anniversary of my father’s death. My
mother now lives in a one-bedroom penthouse suite in a retirement community.
Her apartment is beautiful and it looks out over Mission Bay in San Diego. She
is a very social person and enjoys the arranged events in her community. She
seems happy. So I asked her if it felt like home to her. She said, “No. No
place will ever be home again because your father is not here.”
My
heart broke a little.
So I
returned Home and embraced my wallpaper in my new home. It’s home because my
husband is here. I cherish that.
What makes a place a “home” for you?
Wallpaper on the ceiling? That's a new one for me. Home is where my cats and my husband and daughter are. (I'd also like some of my books there!).
ReplyDeleteHi Shana.
DeleteIt's a simple answer--the ones you love, isn't it?
But I lived alone for so long, I never really realized that. Home became where I had my stuff (books and pets were big for me too :). I guess this move made me aware that now home is where my husband is, stuff or no stuff.
BTW you should see the gold foil wallpaper on the bathroom ceiling--oh my!
I can't stop looking at that ceiling. It's just insane! It would make Georg Jensen weep. However, how to make a home is a serious topic. I've been reading Happiness at Home and thinking about it.
ReplyDeleteYes, Rubin's book is interesting. Moving makes you evaluate your possessions. Keep only the stuff that is needed or makes you happy. Still, the concept of home is elusive to me. I remember flying into LAX after a trip to Europe and felt at home with just the sight of a palm tree.
ReplyDeleteBTW, you should see the shiny gold and pink wallpaper in the bathroom. Makes the kitchen look tame. :D
Gold and pink! How can you not be at home in that? Rip it out, tear it down, add palm trees.(I've been watching too much Rehab Addict)
Delete