When A House Is No Longer A Home
Jul. 19th, 2004 10:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mrdreamjeansIn the past couple of weeks, my folks and I have been taking a trip down homeowners memory lane. We’ve driven by three houses back in our ownership history; my place - dubbed “the house that ‘Phantom’ built”, since it took my earnings from four years on the road with “The Phantom of the Opera” to get it designed and built; Mom and Dad’s place in Bellville, Texas which they sold to move in and take care of my home (since I was on the road 50 weeks a year at the time); and the homestead they built in Sealy, Texas in 1983 and lost during the economic downturn in 1986.
Each little side trip brought back special, sometimes painful, often happy memories of the spaces we created and enjoyed. Our houses were well-designed, well-cared for and well-loved. However, this time I felt a distance, a separation from the properties when I viewed them They were now just houses.... well-designed, well-cared for (mostly) and well-loved (I hope), but no longer a home to us. Our essence was missing and we were the ingredient that made them “home”.
At the 1983 house, my parents had 3 1/2 acres with a lovely two-story grey brick house. It’s country charm was anchored by a two-story stone fireplace, hand-crafted book cabinets gleaming on either side in the golds of the late afternoon sun. My Mom had been very adventurous using red carpeting throughout the huge great room; a tidy four-stall barn sat a short distance away from the house. My most fond memory of the barn was the day I witnessed the birth of one of our foals. Sandar was on his feet and nursing within minutes. It was miraculous.
On the down side, the house sat below a bend in the country subdivision road. Isolated from neighbors, there were deep porches along the front and back of the house which kept the electricity bills down in the hot humid summers of Southeast Texas, but made you always feel that someone could be looking into the windows without your knowledge. It was creepy.
My Mom and Dad lost the home and their property in a mind-bendingly mishandled bankruptcy, not through the fault of my salt-of-the earth parents, but bad, bad advice from everyone in a position to lead them through the troubled time. I seldom have ventured back to this house, as it is mostly filled with sad memories connected to the loss. It’s shabby now. The current owners have let the painted skin of the house and barn flake and erode with inattention, unnecessarily aging the elegant architectural bones. The once proud statement of my parents’ hard work is now a shell of its former glory.
My folks’ Bellville home was in a subdivision replete with swimming pool for the homeowners. Though Mom and Dad weren’t the first owners of this red brick house, they lived comfortably within its walls. Memories in this house are mostly good ones. The house was the site of many family gatherings and was nicely laid out for this purpose. Dad hated being hemmed in by neighbors and when a woman moved in next door, known for her inattention to upkeep and general messiness (She had already run down another house in the subdivision), my parents were all too ready to move into the house I was building.
My home was built in late 1997; I moved in during a vacation from “Phantom” in February 1998, my folks in June 1998. I learned many life lessons through the construction of this house. I even named my house Doraden. My best friend Dora had always hoped to see me in my own home; she used to tease that she would come live with me and be kept in the style to which she wished to be accustomed:) Sadly, she died before it was completed. I combined Dora and “den", as in bear’s den, to honor my best friend’s memory. I miss the essence of Doraden.
It may sound a trifle hi-falutin to name a Texas house, but Doraden was my haven for six years, till I made the decision to sell the house last year. Doraden was a 2000 sq ft story-and-a half golden brick house on 1.3 acres with a 700 sq ft storage /shop building with brick facade nearby. The house sat at the back of the acreage, surrounded by graceful protective trees. I loved the house. It had a wonderful fireplace in which I placed several vanilla-scented candles. My favorite spaces were the master bedroom suite with French doors opening on to the back yard and the sunny glass-enclosed music room. However, it became necessary and evident last year that I should sell, my career requiring me to live in a more urban environment or to make a change. More importantly, I needed to make a change that would enrich my personal life.
Today I got an unexpected email from the current homeowners. It included pictures of “our house". I was touched by their thoughtfulness. The couple has made major changes to the backyard and the music room. The changes are lovely and in the case of the backyard, a major improvement. I approve wholeheartedly of the changes and am honored that they understood my connection to their house. They have shown me how much they love my former house.... and it is now very much their home.
As I drove by a couple of days ago, there were some major changes to the front exterior of the house. I kind of liked that it no longer resembled my home. Putting a new face to Doraden made it easier for me to savor the achievement of building her, but to look upon her with detachment, adding a coda to that that chapter of my life.
Doraden no longer exists; fading into memory is the house in Bellville and so, finally, is the pain of the lost house of the ‘80s. Our new home is in Brenham, a tremendously welcoming stone house, a house now filled with our laughter, love and adventures. When is a house no longer a home? In my eyes, a house is not a home unless its walls surround the people you love and a lifetime of memories.
Each little side trip brought back special, sometimes painful, often happy memories of the spaces we created and enjoyed. Our houses were well-designed, well-cared for and well-loved. However, this time I felt a distance, a separation from the properties when I viewed them They were now just houses.... well-designed, well-cared for (mostly) and well-loved (I hope), but no longer a home to us. Our essence was missing and we were the ingredient that made them “home”.
At the 1983 house, my parents had 3 1/2 acres with a lovely two-story grey brick house. It’s country charm was anchored by a two-story stone fireplace, hand-crafted book cabinets gleaming on either side in the golds of the late afternoon sun. My Mom had been very adventurous using red carpeting throughout the huge great room; a tidy four-stall barn sat a short distance away from the house. My most fond memory of the barn was the day I witnessed the birth of one of our foals. Sandar was on his feet and nursing within minutes. It was miraculous.
On the down side, the house sat below a bend in the country subdivision road. Isolated from neighbors, there were deep porches along the front and back of the house which kept the electricity bills down in the hot humid summers of Southeast Texas, but made you always feel that someone could be looking into the windows without your knowledge. It was creepy.
My Mom and Dad lost the home and their property in a mind-bendingly mishandled bankruptcy, not through the fault of my salt-of-the earth parents, but bad, bad advice from everyone in a position to lead them through the troubled time. I seldom have ventured back to this house, as it is mostly filled with sad memories connected to the loss. It’s shabby now. The current owners have let the painted skin of the house and barn flake and erode with inattention, unnecessarily aging the elegant architectural bones. The once proud statement of my parents’ hard work is now a shell of its former glory.
My folks’ Bellville home was in a subdivision replete with swimming pool for the homeowners. Though Mom and Dad weren’t the first owners of this red brick house, they lived comfortably within its walls. Memories in this house are mostly good ones. The house was the site of many family gatherings and was nicely laid out for this purpose. Dad hated being hemmed in by neighbors and when a woman moved in next door, known for her inattention to upkeep and general messiness (She had already run down another house in the subdivision), my parents were all too ready to move into the house I was building.
My home was built in late 1997; I moved in during a vacation from “Phantom” in February 1998, my folks in June 1998. I learned many life lessons through the construction of this house. I even named my house Doraden. My best friend Dora had always hoped to see me in my own home; she used to tease that she would come live with me and be kept in the style to which she wished to be accustomed:) Sadly, she died before it was completed. I combined Dora and “den", as in bear’s den, to honor my best friend’s memory. I miss the essence of Doraden.
It may sound a trifle hi-falutin to name a Texas house, but Doraden was my haven for six years, till I made the decision to sell the house last year. Doraden was a 2000 sq ft story-and-a half golden brick house on 1.3 acres with a 700 sq ft storage /shop building with brick facade nearby. The house sat at the back of the acreage, surrounded by graceful protective trees. I loved the house. It had a wonderful fireplace in which I placed several vanilla-scented candles. My favorite spaces were the master bedroom suite with French doors opening on to the back yard and the sunny glass-enclosed music room. However, it became necessary and evident last year that I should sell, my career requiring me to live in a more urban environment or to make a change. More importantly, I needed to make a change that would enrich my personal life.
Today I got an unexpected email from the current homeowners. It included pictures of “our house". I was touched by their thoughtfulness. The couple has made major changes to the backyard and the music room. The changes are lovely and in the case of the backyard, a major improvement. I approve wholeheartedly of the changes and am honored that they understood my connection to their house. They have shown me how much they love my former house.... and it is now very much their home.
As I drove by a couple of days ago, there were some major changes to the front exterior of the house. I kind of liked that it no longer resembled my home. Putting a new face to Doraden made it easier for me to savor the achievement of building her, but to look upon her with detachment, adding a coda to that that chapter of my life.
Doraden no longer exists; fading into memory is the house in Bellville and so, finally, is the pain of the lost house of the ‘80s. Our new home is in Brenham, a tremendously welcoming stone house, a house now filled with our laughter, love and adventures. When is a house no longer a home? In my eyes, a house is not a home unless its walls surround the people you love and a lifetime of memories.
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House
Date: 2004-07-19 09:20 pm (UTC)Anyhow, I still dream of that house frequently so from an emotional stand point, I still remenisc about it and can still view, in my mind's eye the house as I knew it back in the 70's through 1985 when we sold it.
Mom and I were going to see about going through it last summer when it was on the market, but never saw an open house and so never did. Ah well, perhaps for the best anyhow.
no subject
Date: 2004-07-19 11:56 pm (UTC)I've never been attached to a house so much as to the memories of what happened there. When I visit Boston, I do go by the huge mansion in Somerville (split up into apartments; 77 College Avenue) I ran for 8 years. Since we sold it 20 years ago, almost nothing has changed. In Texas it would have been rebuilt twice in that time!
Real Estate
Date: 2004-07-20 07:23 am (UTC)You make my point on real estate. I am much more attached to and curious about the memories and events that happened inside houses, rather than the buildings themselves.
I did a history of my parents' residences for them. They've had 12 homes in their 53 years of marriage, each place unique because of them; this list became the seed for this post:)