I feel so sad for your house. You brought it to vivid life. I could almost hear it speaking to you..
I realize that I have never launched a relationship with a dwelling without reminding myself that it is temporary. I have never fully decorated or settled all the way in. I pick a room usually and it becomes the place I call home. Even now, after 20 years in a house I have loved and share with someone I love, there are walls that are still waiting for photos to be put on it. I wonder if I have a commitment problem.
I've never had that sort of relationship to a house. Perhaps if I had the disposable income to do everything I would want to it, remodel and decorate it exactly the way I would choose, then I would feel that sense of intimacy. I felt the reverse of intimacy, aversion, for my parents house, which was the sight of much trauma and grief when I was growing up. My mom is elderly now and the house is crumbling, which is perhaps a function of age and neglect. But I also can't help but feel like it's like the house is rotting from the inside out, not unlike our family.
I have, however, felt that sense of personification for land before. I grew up for most of the summers of my childhood in middle Virginia-- hiking her trails, canoeing her rivers, climbing her cliffs. The first time I drove south onto I-81 after years of living out West when we crossed over the Virginia state line, my skin almost started to itch, my breath became rapid. I was glued to the window like one of those weird Garfield suction things that people used to put on their car windows. I felt at home in a way I hadn't for nearly two decades. It was overwhelming and beautiful.
Tom has that relationship with his house in spades. She is his favored mistress. Me? I’m only the wife. He built her with his bare hands and willed her into existence. He pines for her from 2300 miles away. He spends summers with her and winters with me. I know my place but I’m not jealous. She is rented now with tenants. He is jealous. I cash the rent checks so I am the pimp. LOL. She is quite profitable as it turns out. People from out of town pay a lot of money to sleep with her. Whenever he is sulky and sullen I know he is wanting to be with her and not me. But she likes me too so I guess we’re a thruple.
Oct 22, 2022·edited Oct 22, 2022Liked by Jan Peppler, PhD
My other house in Idaho was very haunted. I was single and lived alone. “He” would leave the toilet seats up in the bathroom. He would put my mail in the ice maker, put the garage door up and down and up and down every night at 3am. He would call my clients at 2am from my land line when I wasn’t home. Sometimes he would place his ice cold hand on my arm when I was in bed. I adopted two huge dogs. I had to drag them into the house. There was one room they utterly refused to enter. I finally told him I acknowledge him and that it was his house but that we could both live there. Nothing else ever happened again.
Gosh this sounds so so similar to the relationship I have with my home . Strangely enough we have been trying to move and the house is not letting us go .it’s strange but I love my home but for practical reasons we have to move and yet it doesn’t work out. I have conversations with my home too , not just this one but my childhood home too .
I feel so sad for your house. You brought it to vivid life. I could almost hear it speaking to you..
I realize that I have never launched a relationship with a dwelling without reminding myself that it is temporary. I have never fully decorated or settled all the way in. I pick a room usually and it becomes the place I call home. Even now, after 20 years in a house I have loved and share with someone I love, there are walls that are still waiting for photos to be put on it. I wonder if I have a commitment problem.
I've never had that sort of relationship to a house. Perhaps if I had the disposable income to do everything I would want to it, remodel and decorate it exactly the way I would choose, then I would feel that sense of intimacy. I felt the reverse of intimacy, aversion, for my parents house, which was the sight of much trauma and grief when I was growing up. My mom is elderly now and the house is crumbling, which is perhaps a function of age and neglect. But I also can't help but feel like it's like the house is rotting from the inside out, not unlike our family.
I have, however, felt that sense of personification for land before. I grew up for most of the summers of my childhood in middle Virginia-- hiking her trails, canoeing her rivers, climbing her cliffs. The first time I drove south onto I-81 after years of living out West when we crossed over the Virginia state line, my skin almost started to itch, my breath became rapid. I was glued to the window like one of those weird Garfield suction things that people used to put on their car windows. I felt at home in a way I hadn't for nearly two decades. It was overwhelming and beautiful.
Awe, you’re writing about me again! Venezuela is a beautiful yet hideous place. I shall return. Phil
After a bit all of my houses became burdensome, I divorced each, with compassion.
Tom has that relationship with his house in spades. She is his favored mistress. Me? I’m only the wife. He built her with his bare hands and willed her into existence. He pines for her from 2300 miles away. He spends summers with her and winters with me. I know my place but I’m not jealous. She is rented now with tenants. He is jealous. I cash the rent checks so I am the pimp. LOL. She is quite profitable as it turns out. People from out of town pay a lot of money to sleep with her. Whenever he is sulky and sullen I know he is wanting to be with her and not me. But she likes me too so I guess we’re a thruple.
My other house in Idaho was very haunted. I was single and lived alone. “He” would leave the toilet seats up in the bathroom. He would put my mail in the ice maker, put the garage door up and down and up and down every night at 3am. He would call my clients at 2am from my land line when I wasn’t home. Sometimes he would place his ice cold hand on my arm when I was in bed. I adopted two huge dogs. I had to drag them into the house. There was one room they utterly refused to enter. I finally told him I acknowledge him and that it was his house but that we could both live there. Nothing else ever happened again.
Gosh this sounds so so similar to the relationship I have with my home . Strangely enough we have been trying to move and the house is not letting us go .it’s strange but I love my home but for practical reasons we have to move and yet it doesn’t work out. I have conversations with my home too , not just this one but my childhood home too .