Home
These days, as I am sure is true for many others, I am acutely aware of the millions of individuals and families who are homeless. There are, on the streets of every city I have visited or in which I have lived, many individuals who live out of their garbage bags, shopping carts, wagons or some combination of same. In most cities there are park benches, sidewalks, small or larger wooded areas, areas under bridges and other places where these individuals and families camp. Some take advantage of the often limited number of beds in shelters. The shelters often have restrictions – partly for safety. A few cities where the weather is likely to get cold enough to result in frostbite or other physical damage have some version of a winter freeze shelter. Volunteers often staff these shelters and other volunteers sign up to make and bring soup. Then there are the millions of refugees, some of whom are living in refugee camps and some attempting to make their way to a country where they can work, create a home, and become a part of the community. For many this will also mean learning a new language and new customs.
I have lived in many different cities, each of which have their own traditions and customs. Some such as the community of Hoonah in Alaska, offered the opportunity to learn new customs and a new way of accepting one’s role as an integral part of the environment as opposed to just imposing oneself on the environment.
As a male, certainly here in the United States and many other countries of which I am personally aware, the custom has been for the female to create the home. We “strapping” males may be called upon to perform certain tasks but the design and organizing is left to the females. There are, interesting enough, males who design spaces and all the furniture, appliances and “stuff” which goes into the space. These are, of course, paying jobs. I am not sure of the breakdown between male and female interior designers but it seems as if that is a profession where some females have not had to poke their heads through a glass ceiling quite as often.
At any rate, as a male who has both lived with others, lived many years alone I have never thought of using a professional interior designer. It has been my job to create a space which is something more than a bachelor pad waiting “a woman’s touch (complete makeover). For some reason, early on I was acutely aware of the health benefits of coming home to a space which daily says, “Welcome home Jim. Let me take care of you.” This meant for me liberal use of inexpensive fabric, used furniture (occasionally an antique when shopping in Buck’s County Pennslvania), occasionally new pieces, much paint and all those personal photos and mementoes which together painted a picture of love. Once settled in, the smells of cooking would another layer of home. Often when living in spaces shared with the richness of the spices which people brought from their former home country, my cooking smells would mix with theirs as our individual homes morphed into an apartment home.
The space which my home occupied was, at times, a studio with a bath shared with another studio occupied by Japanese woman with whom I shared the dance of graceful bowing. Other times it was an 1880 well-crafted home in need of TLC. Other times it was a house shared by others with similar social concerns. In the later places I sometimes overstepped boundaries and took over the redesigning of the space. This was not appreciated.
Most often of the more than 45 spaces I have rented, bought or shared it was up to me to create a home.
I am again in the process of doing that. I have left my very luxurious 2 bedrooms, 2 bath and garage condo within easy bike riding distance of the beach to return to Wheeling, WV where I lived and worked for many years. I had hoped to buy one of the few condos available, but did not find one which suited my desire to be downtown, easily accessible and affordable. So, I arrived in Wheeling having to search for an apartment which would become my new home. Although I did ship many boxes I only shipped a few pieces of furniture – bookcases, a file cabinet, and a couple of other small pieces –which will eventually make their way to the space I have rented – a one-bedroom apartment in a formerly restored older building. A friend helped me get a mattress and haul in the art work I had brought in the car on two separate trips from Florida. I had also brought many of my hanging clothes in the well stuffed (literally) car.
I then set about hanging some of the art work, shopping for used furniture and a couple of new pieces (couch, mattress, small storage cabinets, buying tons of cleaning supplies, coffee (I brought my coffee pot) paint to touch up scraped places, and inviting the loving support of friends. I am still awaiting the arrival or even an estimated date for the arrival of the moving van. In the meantime, I have art, a few precious mementoes I brought in the car, food, cleaning supplies, fresh paint, a mattress, desk, printer, a lovely used Thomasville dresser, one used wing chair, a small dining table with two folding leaves, and 4 lovely comb backed Ethan Allen dining chairs. I have ordered a simple frame for the bed, a scratched table which will be a perfect nightstand, a shoe rack, a missing door shelf for the refrigerator and an over the stove micro wave some dear friends will help me install. I have scrubbed hallway and inside the apartment, did some touch up painting as well as the ornate trim on the mantle, and created storage places in the bathroom.
In the past two years I transitioned from a 3300 or so square foot Victorian house to a two bedroom, two bath, garage condo with huge closet spaces to a one-bedroom apartment with limited closet space, no garage and so place for a washer and dryer (laundromat here I come).
Soon, when the moving van arrives, I will unpack good china, colorful fiesta ware for every day, linens for the bedroom and dining room, vases, more art work, books, a CD player, many CDs some of which contain music recorded by friends and some played by such amazing people as Joshua Bell, much kitchen equipment, a few more clothes, a few framed pieces of family history such as my grandmother’s 1948 pre-nuptial agreement she insisted on when she remarried my grandfather. All of these times are imbued with layers of living in the midst of love. They do not fit a decorator scheme but together they form a dance of energy which will say home. When others, including my son, come to visit, they will smell, see, touch and be embraced by this home.
Somehow this will be created with the input of male and female friends but without the necessity of a wife who is responsible for my emotional and spiritual health. Not surprisingly nearly all my male and female friends share this ability to create a home. More accurately we each bring pieces of love and often practical assistance to birth this creation.
Home on this day of national mourning in the United States (9/11); on this day of remembrance of strength, courage, perseverance and grief is where many will gather today. They will gather to laugh, grieve, perhaps have political arguments, and most of all to embrace in a sacred space – the home.
Written September 11, 2016
These days, as I am sure is true for many others, I am acutely aware of the millions of individuals and families who are homeless. There are, on the streets of every city I have visited or in which I have lived, many individuals who live out of their garbage bags, shopping carts, wagons or some combination of same. In most cities there are park benches, sidewalks, small or larger wooded areas, areas under bridges and other places where these individuals and families camp. Some take advantage of the often limited number of beds in shelters. The shelters often have restrictions – partly for safety. A few cities where the weather is likely to get cold enough to result in frostbite or other physical damage have some version of a winter freeze shelter. Volunteers often staff these shelters and other volunteers sign up to make and bring soup. Then there are the millions of refugees, some of whom are living in refugee camps and some attempting to make their way to a country where they can work, create a home, and become a part of the community. For many this will also mean learning a new language and new customs.
I have lived in many different cities, each of which have their own traditions and customs. Some such as the community of Hoonah in Alaska, offered the opportunity to learn new customs and a new way of accepting one’s role as an integral part of the environment as opposed to just imposing oneself on the environment.
As a male, certainly here in the United States and many other countries of which I am personally aware, the custom has been for the female to create the home. We “strapping” males may be called upon to perform certain tasks but the design and organizing is left to the females. There are, interesting enough, males who design spaces and all the furniture, appliances and “stuff” which goes into the space. These are, of course, paying jobs. I am not sure of the breakdown between male and female interior designers but it seems as if that is a profession where some females have not had to poke their heads through a glass ceiling quite as often.
At any rate, as a male who has both lived with others, lived many years alone I have never thought of using a professional interior designer. It has been my job to create a space which is something more than a bachelor pad waiting “a woman’s touch (complete makeover). For some reason, early on I was acutely aware of the health benefits of coming home to a space which daily says, “Welcome home Jim. Let me take care of you.” This meant for me liberal use of inexpensive fabric, used furniture (occasionally an antique when shopping in Buck’s County Pennslvania), occasionally new pieces, much paint and all those personal photos and mementoes which together painted a picture of love. Once settled in, the smells of cooking would another layer of home. Often when living in spaces shared with the richness of the spices which people brought from their former home country, my cooking smells would mix with theirs as our individual homes morphed into an apartment home.
The space which my home occupied was, at times, a studio with a bath shared with another studio occupied by Japanese woman with whom I shared the dance of graceful bowing. Other times it was an 1880 well-crafted home in need of TLC. Other times it was a house shared by others with similar social concerns. In the later places I sometimes overstepped boundaries and took over the redesigning of the space. This was not appreciated.
Most often of the more than 45 spaces I have rented, bought or shared it was up to me to create a home.
I am again in the process of doing that. I have left my very luxurious 2 bedrooms, 2 bath and garage condo within easy bike riding distance of the beach to return to Wheeling, WV where I lived and worked for many years. I had hoped to buy one of the few condos available, but did not find one which suited my desire to be downtown, easily accessible and affordable. So, I arrived in Wheeling having to search for an apartment which would become my new home. Although I did ship many boxes I only shipped a few pieces of furniture – bookcases, a file cabinet, and a couple of other small pieces –which will eventually make their way to the space I have rented – a one-bedroom apartment in a formerly restored older building. A friend helped me get a mattress and haul in the art work I had brought in the car on two separate trips from Florida. I had also brought many of my hanging clothes in the well stuffed (literally) car.
I then set about hanging some of the art work, shopping for used furniture and a couple of new pieces (couch, mattress, small storage cabinets, buying tons of cleaning supplies, coffee (I brought my coffee pot) paint to touch up scraped places, and inviting the loving support of friends. I am still awaiting the arrival or even an estimated date for the arrival of the moving van. In the meantime, I have art, a few precious mementoes I brought in the car, food, cleaning supplies, fresh paint, a mattress, desk, printer, a lovely used Thomasville dresser, one used wing chair, a small dining table with two folding leaves, and 4 lovely comb backed Ethan Allen dining chairs. I have ordered a simple frame for the bed, a scratched table which will be a perfect nightstand, a shoe rack, a missing door shelf for the refrigerator and an over the stove micro wave some dear friends will help me install. I have scrubbed hallway and inside the apartment, did some touch up painting as well as the ornate trim on the mantle, and created storage places in the bathroom.
In the past two years I transitioned from a 3300 or so square foot Victorian house to a two bedroom, two bath, garage condo with huge closet spaces to a one-bedroom apartment with limited closet space, no garage and so place for a washer and dryer (laundromat here I come).
Soon, when the moving van arrives, I will unpack good china, colorful fiesta ware for every day, linens for the bedroom and dining room, vases, more art work, books, a CD player, many CDs some of which contain music recorded by friends and some played by such amazing people as Joshua Bell, much kitchen equipment, a few more clothes, a few framed pieces of family history such as my grandmother’s 1948 pre-nuptial agreement she insisted on when she remarried my grandfather. All of these times are imbued with layers of living in the midst of love. They do not fit a decorator scheme but together they form a dance of energy which will say home. When others, including my son, come to visit, they will smell, see, touch and be embraced by this home.
Somehow this will be created with the input of male and female friends but without the necessity of a wife who is responsible for my emotional and spiritual health. Not surprisingly nearly all my male and female friends share this ability to create a home. More accurately we each bring pieces of love and often practical assistance to birth this creation.
Home on this day of national mourning in the United States (9/11); on this day of remembrance of strength, courage, perseverance and grief is where many will gather today. They will gather to laugh, grieve, perhaps have political arguments, and most of all to embrace in a sacred space – the home.
Written September 11, 2016
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