“whatever a house is to the heart and body of man-refuge, comfort, luxury-surely it is as much or more to the spirit.” (mary oliver)
we’ll travel a bit soon. a trip that’s been semi-planned – and postponed – for some time. even before setting out, we know it will be great fun, adventuring with friends, moseying the country with them. there is a sweetness to anticipation.
and it’s funny. every time i get close to going away – anywhere – i have a distinct appreciation for our own home. there is something that rises up for me before a trip – a reminder of how really dear home is to me – our old house, our backyard, this amazing lake just a bit to our east, our dogga, our life here. we take walks in the days before leaving and mother earth does her very best at impressing us – a showcase of unparalleled beauty, a display of what’s-right-here.
and it’s no different this time.
even the unexpected worn-gasket-water-pipe-union spewing water into our basement cannot change this feeling. even d’s all-day wet vac duty, carpet that was soaked, stuff that needed to be moved out of the way, the unplanned cost of an expert plumber – even all that didn’t dim this appreciation of home.
we have traveled a lot together and i have become aware of how true it is that you carry home with you. we’ve taken home – together – overseas and all over our nation. this trip will be just the same – a great exploring – while holding home between us.
we are excited to go, to be fed by new places and new experiences, fodder for our muses, our spirits expanding with the time away.
and, at the same time, here i am – smitten by our own home, my spirit filled before we even leave.
you don’t think much about the sink until the sink no longer behaves like a sink.
and in those moments, as you stare at the rising water line in the not-draining-sink, your heart does a little flip-flop-sink and you mentally list all the solutions you hope will quickly and thoroughly address the problem.
but in a house that is anxiously awaiting its centennial birthday party in ’28 this-old-house/handyman/reddit/my-dad’s-rube-goldberg solutions are unlikely fixes. even AI has trouble adequately addressing this…the plunger, hot water, baking soda and vinegar, salt water and one of those straight 99 cent barbed-edge snakes are not the thing.
so we called mike, plumber extraordinaire, who told us to call shane, drain extraordinaire.
sparing you the details of the kitchen sink drain blockage clean-out and the bathroom sink drain blockage clean-out, i will tell you that it felt like a small miracle to run the water in the sink and watch it go down the drain – as it is supposed to. there are days we are amazed by running water. and there are days we are amazed by sinks that drain the water running in them. these last days have been both.
the simplest things – addressed by people who really know their stuff – are back to being simplest things.
those moments david plunged and plunged and plunged, the moments we shook baking soda into the drain followed by vinegar – like a cool science experiment – the moments d laid on towels under the kitchen sink cabinet, bucket at the ready, undoing the j piping…they are – thankfully – fading into oblivion. this is good, as we are not the people who know their stuff when it comes to sinksanddrains.
there’s kind of a lesson here.
despite the fact that we always try to make it up – the solution – acting like we can articulate the problem and then – using good deductive reasoning and analysis (and google and youtube) – solve the problem – does not mean we will truly solve the problem. we may stave it off for a bit. we may make a tiny, barely discernible difference which boosts our high-fiving egos but solves nada. we may truly make the problem worse. it’s a wide spectrum of possibility and so many things can happen in that unhappy expanse of disaster potential.
the lesson, you remind me….
yes, the lesson is to give over to the people who know. that’s – indeed – why they know.
so, although it may seem a tad bit like overkill, i have to say that we are ever grateful to shane this week. every single time i run water in the bathroom sink – to brush my teeth or wash my face or my hands or in the kitchen sink for any of innumerable reasons – I think about his calm and measured demeanor and the fact that he – with quiet confidence – fixed it all.
and the simple thing – the job of sink – is back to being a simple thing. it is back to not being larger than life. it is back to being almost 100 and waiting for its birthday party just a few years down the road.
it’s funny how a misbehaving sink can run your life – instantly. all other priorities fall by the wayside as the water rises, rises. nothing else gets done. i’m guessing it just plumb wanted its fifteen minutes of fame, its time in the sun.
it’s a good thing we didn’t have to sink-or-swim on our own. we’d still be sink-ing.
i have determined that life would be infinitely easier were i to have new house closets – the kind you see on hgtv – all walkinable and organized – with shelf units and hanging storage of different heights – light and airy – indeed, in many episodes, quite beautiful.
that’s not us.
we don’t have those.
and so, my clothes are smushed into my oldhousecloset. and that means that i really barely know what’s in there.
i can definitely tell you that 1977 has a moment in there. the 1980s have a nod or two. the 1990s have a real presence, as do the early 2000s. many of my coolest clothes – from what i can remember of them – are from these eras. and then, hanging off the end of the hangery part of the hanger are other hangers. these are the things from somewhere in this century. on the outside of the hangers hanging on the hanger are the 2020s. this is the stuff i wear most of the time.
but recently i had to dive into the restofit. and in there i found a really great olive green blazer. now, this cotton relatively unstructured blazer was from circa 1998 and had patch pockets. i am not a fan of patch pockets. but i am a fan of olive green and i needed a crop jacket for a jumpsuit (circa 2018) i was going to wear to a very special event. so – at risk of many other hangers coming with the hanger that the olive green blazer was on – i pulled out the jacket and tried it on. i still don’t like patch pockets, but it was the right style and the right color for the jumpsuit.
scissors and a thread-pulling safety pin made the old jacket a new jacket – cropped with a fringed hem. the same kind of thing i was pondering purchasing from poshmark for a prolonged period of time.
now i’m wondering what else is in there that might be repurposed. and i know i need to clean this closet out. that way i might have an idea of things i could wear, things i forgot about, things i’ve “outgrown”, things i might actually need.
the thing that gets me – the instant i start pulling hangers out – is the wash of memories that come with all of it. it is nearly impossible to give away a top i will never wear that my sweet poppo specifically picked out for me or his old blue-jean jacket. and that skirt! i remember buying it at target with my girl when she was little! it is ridiculously hard to throw out a worn-out big shirt i wore on more than one flatbed, playing and singing. and what about those chico traveler-fabric capris?? they never wrinkle no matter what you do to them – even stuffing them in an overstuffed closet!! it is silly-excruciating to put-in-a-pile a denim jacket i’ve had since the day i purchased my yamaha c5 for my studio. it is mildly depressing to pull out all the concert attire and set it aside. that top with sequins!! those long black blazers!! those jeans that were featured on the album covers!! it is heart-tugging to take out the patchwork shirt i wore with my it’s-the-real-thing-coca-cola-pants. i am lost – lost – in a vortex of memories. and i haven’t even started trying it all on.
i need a whole ‘nother closet. one for the stuff that actually fits.
most of the time i can feel this. though sometimes, i am too busy or rushed. and though sometimes, i am frazzled with thoughts. and though sometimes, i am worried or distracted. and though sometimes, i have forgotten the simplicities in the midst of complexities.
i felt it though. and it was palpable.
the driveway greeted us as we pulled in – familiar cracks along its way. the wires overhead tugged and dipped in the wind. the leaves leftover from fall and winter blew in front of us. the house whispered, “welcome home.”
and this time – this time – i heard it. clear as day, as they say.
the whisper of a home – this place i have gone to for rest and nourishment, for creative work and rejuvenation, for the growing of beloveds and the gathering of friends, for belly-laughter and sob-filled tears, for refuge and solitude. this sanctuary. this place.
as we drove – on our way home – i could think of nothing better than to enter our home, hug on dogga, throw on my sweats and comfy boots, prepare a small meal. in this place.
my nest.
“this morning, in the fresh field,
i came upon a hidden nest.
it held four warm, speckled eggs.
i touched them.
then went away softly,
having felt something more wonderful
than all the electricity of new york city.”(mary oliver)
a friend of ours wrote, “i feel like i’ve been searching for that place for a long time now.” that place. the place to call home.
i haven’t lived in a neighborhood that has underground wires. on long island, in florida, in new hampshire, on island, here. everywhere i’ve lived has had wires that stretch from telephone poles to places on the house. cables parallel to the road, cables crisscrossing the backyard, cables running down the driveway.
i’m sure that living in a development without wires might look neater, cleaner. certainly there would be no chance of wires downed in ice storms or big up-on-the-pole transformer explosions.
but wires are what i know. and the squirrels provide an extraordinary amount of entertainment using them as squirrel highways.
would i rather it wireless? probably. but it’s home – even in that minor imperfection – and i feel settled – most of the time – here.
i tried to explain it. if i could choose a place where i would want to live – sans thinking about cost and such – i would likely not choose here. other places call me. the mountains, the coast. but this is where i am right now and right now it is where i am.
i suppose it’s where you place your focus.
shortly, my brand-spanking-new medicare card will take effect. it’s astounding. conversations among friends are about where to live in this new time of life, paring down, perhaps downsizing, perhaps spending time in the year in a different locale, a different climate. it has us thinking.
we continue to go through our house and donate, give away, sell, throw out things that are tucked into spaces on each level of our home. this project will take a while. there’s a lot of life to sort. and, as we do, we re-imagine the space. downstairs, we say, off to the side of david’s studio, on the street side of the treadmill and the bike, we’ll add some mats. we’ll stretch down there and build our exercise programs. the sitting room has become a cozy reading room and all our cds are now visible on shelves, easy access to playing music we love. eventually, the kitchen will have a little cosmetic work. though we have cooked thousands of meals in it as it is, a little refresh will go a long way. we pine to be out back on our deck and patio, adirondack-chair sitting. we see maybe a few more vegetables in our future. we have some deferred maintenance projects to attend to.
but we are in a place that makes access to other places easy. we sit between two major cities, a very cool madison a third to our west. we have two major airports nearby, a third down the road a piece. we have trains that will take us to chicago if we don’t want to drive. our city is growing and, though we don’t always agree with everything, it will continue to expand and more will be offered here.
would i choose it if i could choose from anywhere? maybe not. but this is where i am – where we are – and this – for right now – is where we are settled. another day i may answer that differently, more vehemently dedicated to somewhere else.
in the meanwhile, we’ll make adventures from this place. and we’ll know we can always come home.
every time we pull away for a longer bit, i whisper to our house. i’m guessing every time we pull back into our driveway, wires up above us running the lot line, it whispers back.
we’ve seen photographs of other places – not all that far from our house. even 10, 20, 30 miles or so – maybe less – makes a difference. instead of a bit of snow and a lot of ice like we have, there are inches of snow. lake michigan and that ole windy jet stream has been wreaking havoc for every meteorologist around trying to accurately predict what to expect. it’s all situational.
this past saturday was a fun day (notice my pained smirk here). with ladders and buckets and decanters and water boiling on the stove and blow dryers we dealt with the ice damming issues that come with these sudden bursts of arctic air – the negatives. it is never good to open the back door and be dripped upon before exiting the sunroom and going outside. so, we took all our ice-damming know-how and experience and applied it, once again, to our gutters and roofline – particularly near the obstinate newer gutter outside the back door. going back to maybe 2002 or even a bit earlier, i remember clearly being on the ladder out there with a long hose extending to the basement laundry tub, attempting to melt the overlayer of ice to allow the gutter to flow. so it is clearly a tradition at our house and not an unexpected sight; our eastneighbors never even said a word as they passed by. one never knows when this is going to happen and some years are luckier than others. the conditions are specific and, even with heating cables tucked into the gutters, there are unlucky days here and there. it’s all situational.
and so, we have a polka-dotted patio – with slushy-ice making little circles – making us think of the ice circles that form in lake michigan under certain circumstances. a bit of snow has now accumulated on the grass out back and the birds who remain here to winter are occupying the ornamental grasses – eating seeds that remain there, alternating between the grasses and the birdfeeder. i wonder about a way to warm the water in the birdbath so that there is some fresh water for them to drink. they seem happy, flitting about, despite the freezing cold and wind.
it will be another hearty dinner night. something warming, soup or chili. this cold snap is going to last a few more days. i suppose we could go out hiking in snow-covered woods, but the treadmill and the bike call our names from the basement and we wuss out. we plan on adding to our little gym down there – maybe a few mats for stretching exercises as well. there are certainly circumstances during which we’d rather be in our none-too-fancy-but-climate-controlled basement than outside in the frigid air. it’s all situational.
and even though we glance at the temperatures in other corners of the world – and people taunt us with screenshots of weather with 75° and that silly sun icon – we are glad to be here. managing the challenges of the cold weather, soaking up the comfort of a warm home, watching the seasons as they seemingly fly by. it is all situational and we remember to be grateful for this – our situation.
i am diving into the worlds of facebook marketplace, ebay, poshmark, craig’s list. we are spending long days in the basement – going through, organizing, separating out that which is to be kept, that which is to be sold, so much of which is to be donated. thirty-five years – in the same house – is a long time to accumulate things and there are many boxes and giant plastic bins to open…and…this is not our first rodeo down there. it’s been nasty weather and it’s negative-whatever outside so this a perfect time for this. i know that any stopping of the momentum will – yes – stop the momentum. so we don’t stop.
on a shelf unit with many books of many colors, i came upon a collection of volumes – all ten of them, making a complete set. they are the 1908/1909/1910 copyrighted gold-leaf-gilt-edged editions of “the bible and its story – taught by picture lessons”. there are beautiful penned illustrations throughout, published by ira hiller (ny). it is a significant collection. but not one that i want to keep. i don’t remember the backstory – where or who these came from. and i know that, though i have not once opened them to read, there is someone ‘out there’ who would want to add this to their personal collection. and so, i will sell it. with the exception of a little water damage on volume 6’s back cover, it’s in quite excellent condition. research will help me set a price – i’ll not ask for top dollar, though, for i want to move this out and into someone else’s hands for their own home library.
it’s an interesting predicament – setting prices. even with research, it all seems somewhat arbitrary. a thing is only – truly – worth what someone else will pay for it, i am reminded. and so, i keep that in mind as i hold things in my hand, maybe photograph them for memory-sake and place them on the dining room table for an ad photo shoot, the writing of a description, pricing and uploading. i wonder what value someone else will have for these things – so many things – that were mine but that need to move on.
for value is a funny thing. for some, it is in the name of the maker, the label tucked in the collar, the brand on the purse or the jacket or the furniture piece or the vehicle. for some, it is the gilded antique, the collectible, the museum piece. for some, it is the barbie doll or the hummels or the annual dated ornament. for some, it is the scrap of paper found in an old purse with toddler-print that says “i love you”. for some, it is the yoyo quilt your grandmother made; the one in which you recognize the fabric of clothes you once wore. in amish tradition, “an object cared for in a home can turn into a shining thing.” (sue bender)
the things i or we choose to keep may not be the festooned bric-a-bracs of someone else’s sensibility. they may be much simpler, more thready and less dollar-attached. they have old narrative worn into their object-souls and – even now, decades later maybe – they can still elicit an array of emotions. the relationships, the art form, life’s riverdance all woven into the things we may choose to keep.
we keep unearthing, unboxing, moving items from one spot to another. “life’s all about moving your patches around,” and i believe this to be true. it’s all fluid. we will keep working until we finish the first pass through of the stuff-of-life and then – and only then – will we be able to start the second pass through.
“simplify and then go deeper, making a commitment to what remains.”
even upside-down i recognized it. a chunk of concrete – architectural salvage – signed and dated 1978 – it sat there, with an assortment of other stuff outside the antique shoppe – and called my name.
my sweet momma wanted to be an architect. she was way before her time, though. born in 1921, she loved applying her love of mathematics, but the world – i guess – wasn’t ready for her. i, too, love math. and i love design, though i haven’t had any formal training in it. but when a chunk of concrete – or any other item – calls my name, i stop and listen – at least for a moment. there is a conversation to be had.
because it was upside-down and weighs a ton, i asked d to turn it over. i made an instant decision…one, unlike most other purchases, that would have no second-guessing, no post-purchase regret. i wasn’t sure yet what we’d do with this concrete, but it was coming home with us (after some new-york-style price-negotiating).
it’s in our living room now, in case you are wondering. it serves as a side table to a chair and is the right place for our ipod sounddock. it’s perfect.
i was trying to explain – at the antique shoppe – to a couple people there how i try never to buy things to be used for what they are designed for. it’s my own rule of repurposing. it’s also pretty scrappy. now, now, that doesn’t mean a pillow isn’t used as a pillow or a chair as a chair, but old vintage coffee pots are our tea canisters and suitcases are our special boxes. tin displays photos with magnets. a door is a table. you get it.
for years, i rented offices at an historic building on the lakefront. a fantastic old building with high ceilings and wood floors, only cold running water on my floor, big old windows facing the lake. when they were doing some reno work on the building, there were piles by the big dumpsters: vintage window frames, rectangles of radiator grates, old signs. it was a salvage dream. i miss those offices, but as i look around our home, the old window frames are comforting and remind me of days spent chasing concerts, wholesale accounts and mice.
the farm table in our sitting room holds a beloved heart leaf philodendron from my daughter. the old repainted chiffarobe in my studio holds photographs of my parents. ”sisu” is painted on a piece of old wood, created by my son. there are two old rocking chairs in david’s studio: mine and his…both full of stories of long ago.
so the chunk of concrete didn’t really surprise him. i thought for sure – as we pulled in – that he noticed it too. but he hadn’t. so i pulled him over to it, certain he, too, would love it. and he did. most of the time it doesn’t take much to amuse us.
we stood at the doorway from the hall to the living room, admiring our find. we – truly – couldn’t have liked it more. artifacts from time gone past – things that might sit out by the dumpster or in the weather in the parking lot – reclamation of interesting pieces – even roughhewn – loved in our home. we tie new narrative to these, like the doublebows on the boots we wear…a smidge of warmth, of security, of new use, another layer – this doublebow – the old stories and the new stories. we are certain of their place in our home.
sometimes i wonder why i am so attracted to peeling paint, wobbly-legged tables, old windows and doors.
and sometimes i don’t.
“every day we reconstruct ourselves out of the salvage of our yesterdays…”(james sallis)
“our house…is a very very very fine house…” i can hear crosby, stills, nash and young gently singing this sweet domestic-bliss song in my ear. it makes me smile and nod my head.
everyone has their bliss. some need gigantic homes with every upgrade. some need rv’s that give freedom to roam. some need high-floor-city-dwelling. some need acreage in the middle of nowhere.
the things we need change.
we are finding that we need less and less. nothing fancy, nothing real shiny, nothing ostentatious, our house is simply an old house. it was built in 1928 and has all the trimmings of a sturdy old home – thick crown moldings and wainscoting panels, solid six panels and windowed french doors, creaking wood floors, glass doorknobs, high ceilings, double-hung roped windows. it also has all the quirks.
and we love it all.
now, don’t get me wrong, these last few days i would have been a very happy girl to have had central air conditioning. other days, i’ve pined for an island in our kitchen or maybe a master suite or a connected two-car garage. but…it’s not so and we don’t get all hung up on that stuff.
instead, we just love our house. and we feel like it knows it. because we can feel it loving us back.
in the late afternoon, the sun streams in the west windows and lights up the sitting room. it is the coziest of cozy rooms with the comfiest old slipcovered couch, smushy fur throw pillows, sherpa blanket. good lamps, happy lights and no television make it the perfect place to share time with a book. we love sitting there.
the sitting room had history as a cozy room. many years ago it was the only room in the house with a tv. when my children were little-little they watched mr. rogers and thomas-the-tank-engine and sesame street in there. my son lined up matchbox cars on the rug and my daughter sang and danced with barney and the gang. the little mermaid and the lion king and sing-along songs were on regular line-up. a small room, it was a hub of activity for small babies and toddlers. we danced for hours to the grapevine song and woke up the household on saturday mornings to brother band’s bagpipes.
the giant tv went to the curb and someone picked it up with a wagon and toted it away. the camelback rolled-arm loveseat, much worse for wear, took its own turn at the curb and the old couch from the living room donned a slipcover and – with great effort by my son and me – made its way into the cattycorner.
then, there was a period of time it was a little bit ignored. more of a pass-through than a room, it begged attention, some of our time.
and now, the rickety old farm table is next to the couch and holds an antique clock that magically stopped at 11:11, some dried flowers and charlie – the heart-shaped philodendron who clearly loves being the star of the room. beautiful paintings and an old screen door. and the sunlight greets us every afternoon and each time we walk from the hall into the bedroom or vice-versa.
it is easy to sink down into the couch and close one’s eyes. we know this from experience. it’s a really good nap couch. i wonder how it would have been for two toddlers on the move. i suspect it would have been a good addition back then. funny how cozy takes over somewhere along the way.
loveseats are good – and quite lovely. but couches – the kind you can sink down into – read a book together on opposite ends leaning back on fuzzy overstuffs, under a blanket – are better. looking back i can see that now. smushy > camelback. this would have been a better couch back then. hindsight. sigh.
lounging on the sofa the other day i closed my eyes, but not in sleep. for a moment, i could hear the tiny voices of my children – decades ago – as they played on the rug and sang along, “it’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood…”, “under the sea”, “i love you. you love me”, “colors of the wind”. wistful moments. time flies by. our home holds us, ever-watchful.
i looked at the changes of the sitting room. a serene spot in the house, a place to think back and re-relish earlier times. times of barbies and baby dolls, stacks of books, matchbox cars and balls of every sport. growing children, dogs, a cat. it was a hub back then. it’s a different kind of hub now. and i’m eternally grateful for both.
reverse threading 