Little House, Big Power

 

As mentioned in a recent post, I've been burdened with Cassandra's curse for all of my life - able to foresee potential problems, but powerless to convince anyone.  Perception devoid of persuasion.  It stinks.

Not long ago, tried to convince folks dear to my heart that they should rethink moving things out of their surviving parent's home while she was still living there.  It made sense - get her suite set up in her son's home before the actual move.  Looked great - on paper.  Alas, like the architectural drawing that ends up looking nothing like the actual house, such well-laid plans very often go astray. 

Alas, I wasn't able to convince them of what struck me as efficient folly.  The impact of my failure has been messing with my sleep.  In hopes of perhaps helping someone who somewhere down their life road might run across a similar situation, here's my take on the importance of houses & homes in buttressing our sense of personal identity ...

Not only was I was raised on Virginia Lee Burton's classic, The Little House,  most of my childhood was spent in a little house atop a hill.  The book & our house & all the people within it reinforced my connection to the joy of homes & all they celebrate.  I continue to cherish the book & all it embodies.  

Houses, homes matter to us as human beings.  I believe that we matter to the houses in which we live.  Call me New Age or just plain wifty, but am sure that the happy times in Squirrel Haven - our present house - has filled it with all sorts of positive, uplifting energies.

I have lived longer at my present house than at any other home.  Alden Road & Fettersmill, Alden Road behind the farmhouse where PopPop & Grandma Rose once lived, Cherry Lane in what our family always referred to as the Genzlinger House, Woodland Road where I was married out of - the longest I lived in any of them was the just shy of 20 years, at the last.  Squirrel Haven has now been my home for almost 26 years.

Every room contains memories of happy times with family & friends, including our bedroom which was pressed into service on the occasions we played host to the Friends Saturday Music Gathering, where each room - and the back yard - in our house featured a different sort of music.  

I believe that the way we best remember things is by what has touched our heart in a positive way.  The same is true with our homes - I like to think they house the upbeat memories & moments, show anything else the door.

Homes matter to us, especially as we grow older.  Not just the walls roof windows of the building, but the things within it, things accumulated over the years that mean something to us.  

          

The power of our house, of its contents & core configuration, hit home decades ago, when the retired children of a very elderly friend started renovating her longtime home.  Like my here & now friends, it made total sense - they were going to take over the house when she died, so why not get started on improvements while she was alive, rather than waiting?  When the parent's health inexplicably nose-dived soon after the renovations started, one contributing factor became clear, at least to me.  It stopped being the house she'd lived in all those years, no longer the home she shared with her O Best Beloved for half her lifetime.  It went from intimate, reassuring friend to a stranger.

When Mom moved in with me, the fact that John & I had so little furniture in our 4-bedrooom, 5-level house worked in her favor.  She brought every stick of furniture she wanted.  Certain pieces - particularly Dad's file cabinets & his chifferobe - went to others she felt would truly appreciate them, but all the rest moved in with her. 

Every morning when she woke up, throughout the day as she moved through the house, Mom was surrounded with familiar possessions, artifacts of previous lives - as a wife, a mother, a friend to so many.  

By then, I'd read Dorothy Sayers' description of books, spoken by Lord Peter Wimsey in The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club - "Charles, books... are like lobster shells; we surround ourselves with 'em, then we grow out of 'em and leave 'em behind, as evidence of our earlier stages of development.” 

 

To that I would add records of every ilk, especially LPs with their often awesome covers & epic liner notes;  knick knacks which mean nothing to most people & everything to a few; paintings & photographs; calendars, especially ones with notes; ancient magazines & outdated maps.  The flotsam & jetsome of a life that's utterly worthless (although LPs are making a come back) & totally priceless.

  .     

As Lord Peter put it so well, they all serve "...as evidence of our earlier stages of development.” 

The older we get, the more that evidence of our earlier stages takes on special meaning & value.  The experience of an unforgettable night can be summoned by just holding an almost worn-out album of Bobby Short & friends.  

 

How many memories rush with the touch of a book like Gone With the Wind, which I first read in 8th grade, which included a character (Dolly Merriweather) who still influences my life - to other people, it's just an old book with a battered binding, but to me it is full of life.  

A match box, a key chain, an ancient New Yorker saved for its cover featuring a cat that looks like a much beloved, treasured prints given by a friend - all have power few of us appreciate, the power to transport & transform anyone of a certain number of years - especially elders - into his or her younger self.  

           

Clear these things out of a house & it remains a dwelling, an abode, but it ceases to be a home.  Memories & moments - those are the very things that transform a house into a home.  

Mom was happy as a dickey bird from the moment she moved into our house because almost everything in it sang of HER home.  The hutch cabinet that still - as it always had - stored books instead of china.  The big chair in the Stickley style that was always her special resting place, with arms broad enough to set a bowl of soup or a plated sandwich, certainly a coffee mug.  The black laminated coffee table that Mike made when he & Kerry lived near by.  The 4-poster bed that Mim sanded & repainted as a surprise for Mom & Dad while they were vacationing in Maine.  The dining room table that Dad got at mega discount because it had been stained improperly.  Mom could look around the living room, the dining room, her bedroom & see memories & moments that arched back over her lives.  

   

Even the smallest apartment can have an outsized power for those who live in it.  Imagine the impact of all the moments & memories accumulated in a house that started out as a fixer-upper, now a cherished treasure.  The woman who lives in it never saw just handsome built-in bookcases;  always in her mind were the plain walls that were there before her husband & their friends hauled out their saws, hammers & nails. She sees the fridge in the kitchen - and all the ones that came before.  She sees the dining room set & remembers the excitement they felt finally able to afford such an extravagance - they came to easily afford & buy other more valuable pieces over the years, yet none held the same thrill as that table & matching chairs.

Think twice before making changes in the home of an aging loved one, friend, client.  Is the time efficiently saved worth the potential risk?

I wish it was possible to go back several weeks & shackle myself to the front of my dear friend's home in protest.  It might had done as little good as my warnings. But at least I might be sleeping more easily.  If John & I had two cars, I'd be with her in a heartbeat, keeping her company in a forlorn house with empty bookcases.  

It's too late to make a difference for her, but I hope that anyone reading this will take to heart my message - even the smallest home holds big power over our heart mind spirit.  Tred softly & think twice - three & four times - before placing the efficient before the effective & affective.

Trust me - everyone will sleep easier!