Welcome to Sunday All Day Brunch. This is an open topic thread. Help yourself to the goodies. Now that I’m back home we have real coffee and not instant and this is the home of Krispy Kreme donuts. I thought today we could talk a little bit about what turns a house into a home and what turns a home back into just a house.
I was caretaker for my Mom for six years in Indiana. Mom lived in the house she and Dad bought when Dad retired. Dad made a lot of wonderful modifications to the house and I loved to visit it. My older brother Mike lived there with them after he retired from the Army. After Dad died in 1999 the house started to feel different as if something had disappeared. When Mom died in 2010 it got worse. With Mike’s death on August 29th it was as if everything that had made the house a home died with him. I wasn’t the only one who felt like that. My brother Eric felt the same way. It was as if the heart and soul of the house had disappeared and the home turned back into just a house.
I spent almost three weeks going through the entire house cleaning and disposing of things. All three inhabitants of the house were pack rats and Eric and I went through Mike’s room. I did Dad’s den. I had already done a majority of Mom’s things on a previous trip. I was pretty ruthless in dumping things because none of the remaining siblings has enough room for all of their possessions. We kept things that were meaningful to us and everything else was sent to the dump. When I go back up the things that I think would sell are going to be turned over to an auction house for sale. The house will then be cleaned and put up for sale.
This brings up the question of what turned my home for six years into just a house. I think it started with Dad’s death in the front yard of the house. Mom died in her sleep in her bedroom. Mike’s fall, that would prove to be fatal, came in the upstairs bedroom. I think there was just too much death and it leached out the spirit of the house.
What makes this little two-bedroom apartment a home? I could say part of it has to do with the fact that my two cats, Pixie and Merlin, live here with me. Part of it could be that my possessions are here. Part of it may be that I brought the important mementos of my parent’s life with me and have them displayed here. Part of it may be that I’m an artist and I have my artwork displayed on my walls. Maybe since I’m a Doctor Who fan the fact that my front door looks like the Tardis is a factor.
Whatever it is that makes this rented apartment a home I am so glad to be back here if only for a few weeks before I have to return to Indiana. I love decorating the place. I was in a thrift store today and found the perfect curtains for all four windows. I’ll put them up later today. I’ll also put together another bookcase so I can unpack the boxes I brought from Indiana and put things away. I’ll also be able to put up things honoring my brother.
I think what is so important to me in this little place of mine is that there is a sense of peace here. I don’t feel as tense as I do in Indiana. The place is me. I can have my Marvin the Martian things all over and my Doctor Who pictures and things. I can place my toys on display and not feel I have to justify having them. I can pick up kitty toys and know they won’t stay in the basket for long with Pixie around. I can sleep in my own bed and not have to worry about anything other then Merlin trying to shove me out.
Peace, a sense of self, and a haven to shelter you from the storms both weather wise and emotional. I think that is what makes a home. And of course two kitties are very important.