Thirty years ago today, I moved into what I assumed would be my “starter” home — an 820-square-foot house where I’d live for a few years before selling it and using the proceeds to buy a larger house. Three decades later, I am still living in my starter home, an irony given the fact that I was kicked out of my parents’ home when I was 18 years old and during the nineteen years before purchasing my starter home, I lived in 10 different apartments, rooms and basements.
My parents moved into their brand new home where they would raise five girls in 1956. My mother was enormously proud of the house she helped to design and often talked about the times in the future when her five daughters and their children would come back to gather around the fireplace at Christmas.
In November 1982, my parents abruptly sold their house and used the proceeds to buy a travel trailer. None of us were clear about where they were going and for how long — they just up and moved. Since then, no one in my family has lived in one place as long as I have.
When I moved in 30 years ago, I had no sofa, one reading chair, a piano, a crappy double bed, one dresser, and a desk comprised of a door sitting atop two filing cabinets. I owned four original paintings, about 1,000 LPs and tons of books. Over the years, I continued to buy original art and photographs assuming that one day I would be living in a larger home with more wall space. Today, nearly 300 pieces of art lean against furniture or are stored in the attic or Adrienne’s house. CDs eventually replaced LPs and an iTunes library of 15,100 songs (in October I purged 5,000 songs) eventually replaced CDs. And I now have a sofa, a queen-size bed and three dressers.
This year, my house — one unit in a 1,600 housing Coop — will undergo significant changes because of the Coop’s Home Improvement Program. Depending on finances, I may be able to afford to install central AC for the first time in my life.
I’m not sure why I’m sharing all of this. I had thought about throwing a party to mark 30 years of living in this house, but I’m not sure I’m all that happy about it. Has my depression fueled inertia? Has a precipitous drop in my annual income over the last five years frightened me into staying put? It’s hard to know. I just never thought I would be living here this long and now I suspect that this will be where I will die. That’s not necessarily a bad thing . . . but like my mother, I once dreamt about kids around a fireplace.
Speaking of houses . . . I woke up to the news of what happened in the House of Representatives last evening at the State of the Union address which I refused to watch. (Also, my cable box and remote went kaput yesterday . . . I don’t know if it was a blessing or a curse for someone fighting to get out of the abyss of a dip in her double depression). I wasn’t surprised by the stark look at the breakdown of bipartisanship, but perhaps I’m inured to the acrimony and discomfort given what it was like to live in my mother’s house.
While writing this post yesterday, I knew that some folks would respond to this post with: “But at least you have a home. Some people don’t even have a home.”
I get it. But Charlotte taught me over the years that two things can be true at once: “It’s regretful that some folks don’t have a home AND I never thought I would only ever have THIS ONE home in my lifetime.” Both are true, and neither ought to be judged.
True and well said.
Wow, has it been 30 years??!! I remember looking at places with you. Actually I am sad too. The place does not seem Big enough for your Spirit and creativity and life. Clearly you find the huge outdoors on your walks a way to find bigger space. Also you get an A+ for remembering that two things (or more) can be true at once.
Charlotte, it means the world to me that you are sad, too, that I am still living here. It seems to get smaller and smaller. To create more space for my spirit, I mostly resort to giving away books. I am about to give away all of my business clothes — I haven’t worn them in years. If nothing else, it will eliminate the sadness I have from looking at them. My wardrobe these days is sweat pants for walking and jeans for everything else. Time to get rid of the panty hose, too.
I hope I don’t die while this is still the only home I’ve ever had. I don’t know why, but the thought of a hospital bed in the living room just crushes my heart.
I love your home. I have visited twice and will never forget how welcoming and warm it is…even though the cat was angry when we were there 😉
Thank you, dear Kelly, for loving my home and me. I wish I wasn’t feeling so depressed these days so I could take in your lovely comment. I’ll get there . . .
And that cat is still angry . . . Jen wouldn’t even let Beth up the stairs when she visited last August! I hope I’m not fueling his discontent. 😕
What I find amazing about this post is the “soul-rootedness” that you have created in your life. Your childhood was not a “home” for you, but rather a place where you often felt almost a stranger. But in your adult life, in this 30-year place, through all kinds of changes in your life and circumstances, you have created and maintained(!) a home and made it a place of beauty and warmth. I think that is truly something to celebrate. I agree with Charlotte that this place may not be big enough for your expansive self, but I think you have lived big in your small home, while so many, in better financial situations, live small in their big homes.
“You have lived big in your small home, while so many, in better financial situations, live small in their big homes.”
Thank you, Carol.
I am sorriest for the depth of your sadness and grief but also for what feels like the slow death of this dream among others of yours. You have grieved not having a larger home from the time we first met and that is a long time to grieve. I am sorry for the weight of that sadness. It may be too much to keep the dream alive, but maybe an ember can be maintained so that one day if an opportunity arises that ember will be kindled and will burst into the flame of remembrance that this is what you have waited for forever.
Thank you, Beth, for your empathy.
It takes a lot of energy to maintain that ember, but I will continue to try. I’m afraid that so much of my energy is depleted — in the mid-winter — fighting depression.
And it IS a surprise that you got the notification for this post in your regular inbox. Why isn’t it consistent? It’s one of those eternal mysteries.
PS: I received notice of this post in my regular inbox (not my junk mail.) What a nice surprise on a day where most of the news was bad!
Adrienne reminded me that my home is 840 square feet and not 820 square feet. Also, she wondered why I didn’t include a photo of my kitchen. I didn’t because I wanted to post photos of rooms where I spend most of my time. I spend more time in my bathroom than I do my kitchen.