August 5, 2010

Home is where the heart is.....

I was thinking about homes this morning.  Why?  Hell if I know - it's all in the blog title, people.  I ramble.  A lot.  Especially in the confines of my brain, early in the morning, while waiting for the coffee to kick in, or sometimes in the evening when no one is bothering me to look for whatever it is they've misplaced.

My mother absolutely refused to sell her house.  She was of the thought that it was our "home," that we grew up there and how could she ever possibly leave it?  Even though the neighborhood was going to hell in a hand basket, quickly.

What she failed to realize is that, despite her skewed thinking on the subject, the memories of that house was not all grins and giggles, sparkles and glitter - for us or her.  She also failed to realize that neither of her children would ever call that house "home" again once we moved on into our adult lives.

My entire childhood was spent in that house.  My son, on the other hand, is currently on his sixth "home" although I think he only remembers three of them.  And while I miss one particular house sometimes (until I remember how tiny the kitchen and bathrooms were) - where he spent most of his formative years and where there was a record of his growth on one of the walls (which the new owners painted over! How COULD they?! But, to be fair, they didn't know us then.  A different story for a different time) - I know deep in my heart that a house does not make a home.  The people inside those houses make a home.  I also know (as much as I don't want to admit it) that this is not our last move (oh dear God I can't face another move - even if it's 15 years from now!).  I'm sure we will move at least one more time before all is said and done; which is kind of funny in itself as I clearly recall Hubby emphatically stating (two houses back) that "this" will be our last house! Yeah, so much for his emphatic statements.....  I also know that even had we stayed in one spot all these years - that one day my  Man-Child will move on and out and find his own "home" leaving Hubby and I to figure out a new configuration of "our" home.

On my last trip home (funny, how you can consider a whole state "home" though....), I took the time, as I always do when I'm there, to drive through the old neighborhood and past the old house. The neighborhood, which was never fabulous to begin with, had reached the point were I didn't feel safe - even though it was broad daylight and I was in a locked and moving vehicle (my father even recoiled in horror when I'd told him I'd been by there - and told me not to go back again).  And even though I haven't thought of that house as "home" for many, many, many, many years - there is a twinge of sadness seeing what it had become, in what it should have been.

Will I go back, next time I am in Texas?  Most likely.  Because even though they say you can't go home again - you can always drive by slowly-with the doors firmly locked.


  1. Almost every time I go to CA I ride over to were I grew up until I was 13. Part of my heart will still be in CA!! I was just thinking about this a few minutes ago.

  2. I know sometimes you say you feel like you are just rambling, but I really enjoyed this post. I have a love/hate relationship driving by my old "home" too. I miss my mom, and all my memories of her are within those walls that no longer belong to us. Ahhhh, thanks for the post. Almost Friday!!

  3. A couple of years ago, I drove by a house we used to live in when I was very young. I remember my fourth birthday there and riding my bicycle around the driveway (no training wheels). Those are my first memories, and even though we only lived there less than 2 years, as I sat in my car across the road from a burned down house, I felt sad. The circular driveway I used to ride my bike on was overrun with weeds. The dining room where I sat with a birthday cake in front of me was nothing more than ashes.

  4. I enjoyed reading this post also, Gigi. It reminded me that 'home' is the good and the bad, the joy and the pain, the laughter and the tears plus all the things we want to forget. You're right, home is where the heart is and we can never erase our memories.
    Have a GREAT weekend!

  5. I know understand your point- but boy, am I homesick! LOL. I love my parents house, and someday they will have to sell it. It will be weird, but it will happen, and my home will be wherever my husband and kids are.

  6. My dad moved house a year after mum died and even though he now lives somewhere which is nice and which I left on my wedding day it didn't feel like home. Hubby drove the girls down to what was home a while back and it really upset me. It was the bungalow I grew up in but they had painted it pink for god sake. I think also because my dad had built the house, that it will always be my home but I'm never going to see it again.
    (can you tell I'm catching up here!!)

  7. Loved the post...I drove the children past 'their' old houses a few months ago..they're so interested...yes X was born in that house and X born in that one and no you didn't ever live in that one...etc
    This current house has the marks on the wall measuring their heights though. I must remember to take a photo of it. XXX

  8. For past generations the home was tied tightly to the house. While the home was people, the house that you sweated dearly for offered a womb for those people to grow and nurture.

    Now, of course, housing is much easier to come by and that home/house thread no longer exists.

  9. I drove by my childhood home a couple of years ago. It was a little smaller then I remembered but the memories were just as sweet. I'm afraid I get now wanting to move out of your home and hanging on:) Romantic or pathetic? Perhaps a bit of both!

  10. Aw. I think you're trying to be okay with the downward spiral of your childhood home...but it's gotta be hard.

    Even though...I don't think we can ever truly see anything through our childhood's eyes. I think it's a 1-shot deal, sweets.

  11. I didn't really have a childhood home. I'm from a military family so we moved every few years. So all our homes were basically on a military base.