Note to readers—When I write on such things as this I am hoping that you will feel some of the emotions I feel. Music can help that, as it’s pure emotion that conveys what language cannot. Please listen. Houses have souls, they have dispositions to the world. That disposition is there in the frame, whatever good or bad may have happened inside that house over its life. Some are welcoming, some are forbidding and hostile. Some are inert.
It has the soul of a frontier woman I think.. hard wrought strength and secret kindness. This house meant everything to us kids, it was the place we finally landed, that gave us the safety we needed from the world and the Hope to live that our hearts to could sip from the soul of the house. This was our home despite the raids, the destruction of our dreams by our mother.. this house offered a sip of tea on a hot day to a darkened heart. We should buy it.
I might only have time to read one ‘Stack today; I’m so glad this was the one at the top of my feed this morning. Houses have souls, and you can definitely feel the soul of a house.
What a great read, Josh. So evocative. You actually made a house with no electricity or municipal sewage system in the far northeast feel very much like a home.
I had a somewhat similar experience of moving often—my salesman father was always dissatisfied by his jobs—though we did not have the problem of no money or having to flee at midnight. I can’t imagine how disorienting that was. But even I, having lived in 8 houses (in three cities) plus one apartment by the age of 10, ended up collecting memories of certain rooms and angles and shadows. As an adult, my sudden flashbacks in time, most of my dreams, and the background images that come to mind whenever I’m deeply focused on work always return me to one of those spots. I’ve long wondered why that is, why memory links me to certain empty rooms and hallways instead of other people. But your piece makes it clear that, without my being aware of it, my childhood felt bereft of the grounded feeling of home.
good and bad memories without excuses or softening. Its very helpful to read and I appreciate you for it.
My way to fit when reminiscing with people was by creating 'memory vignettes', carefully curated, heavily redacted histories which were half truths not only through omissions but also added fictions inserted to maintain flow and normalcy. I stopped this behavior but still I am working on the balance between whitewashing my history and oversharing during polite conversation. You've been able to find that middle ground Josh.
My childhood home often shows up in dreams as well. I consider it a member of the family and there was definitely grieving when we left.
I’m about to return to our second family home to help my aging parents for a couple of weeks. It’s been almost six years since I’ve been “home” and I wonder what it’s going to be like.
Now I live in a mobile home in a 55+ community. I guess the girlfriend and cats make it home and my senior neighbors are the best but it’s still a bit more house than home.
I feel there’s another home out there that is family I’ve just not yet met. I hope so much to find it and have it be the last one.
I am pleased you made a crow friend. That's best when you can, I think, because they're frikkin' people smart and you don't want to be on their bad side.
I've got two bird killing mainecoon/Persians, (perfect ASD cats because they never run away from the kids despite the Lenny-love) they know to run for cover from the crow.
"If we’d been childhood contemporaries, I think we could have been friends." So many layers to that sentence. You truly have a gift for bringing the reader into your experiences.
This is beautiful, and moving. Thank you for writing it.
That's beautiful, Josh.
Have you ever read Christopher Alexander's book, "A Pattern Language?"
It's about fundamental patterns in architecture worldwide, and is the book I'd choose if I could only take one to a desert island. I
It has the soul of a frontier woman I think.. hard wrought strength and secret kindness. This house meant everything to us kids, it was the place we finally landed, that gave us the safety we needed from the world and the Hope to live that our hearts to could sip from the soul of the house. This was our home despite the raids, the destruction of our dreams by our mother.. this house offered a sip of tea on a hot day to a darkened heart. We should buy it.
I might only have time to read one ‘Stack today; I’m so glad this was the one at the top of my feed this morning. Houses have souls, and you can definitely feel the soul of a house.
Have you considered writing a book-length memoir, Josh? Your writing deserves a wide audience.
I would definitely buy this book.
Wonderful Josh. Thank you.
Wonderful writing, Josh
What a great read, Josh. So evocative. You actually made a house with no electricity or municipal sewage system in the far northeast feel very much like a home.
I had a somewhat similar experience of moving often—my salesman father was always dissatisfied by his jobs—though we did not have the problem of no money or having to flee at midnight. I can’t imagine how disorienting that was. But even I, having lived in 8 houses (in three cities) plus one apartment by the age of 10, ended up collecting memories of certain rooms and angles and shadows. As an adult, my sudden flashbacks in time, most of my dreams, and the background images that come to mind whenever I’m deeply focused on work always return me to one of those spots. I’ve long wondered why that is, why memory links me to certain empty rooms and hallways instead of other people. But your piece makes it clear that, without my being aware of it, my childhood felt bereft of the grounded feeling of home.
This is beautiful, painterly, emotionally evocative prose. I think anyone who’s ever loved a home will feel that emotional tug again.
Hiraeth- A Welsh word describing a feeling of homesickness for something that no longer exists.
I love houses like these. We watch all the HGTV programs where these types of houses are restored to their former glory.
Good writing, Josh.
Thank you.
You seamlessly integrate both
good and bad memories without excuses or softening. Its very helpful to read and I appreciate you for it.
My way to fit when reminiscing with people was by creating 'memory vignettes', carefully curated, heavily redacted histories which were half truths not only through omissions but also added fictions inserted to maintain flow and normalcy. I stopped this behavior but still I am working on the balance between whitewashing my history and oversharing during polite conversation. You've been able to find that middle ground Josh.
Thanks for the lesson😊
My childhood home often shows up in dreams as well. I consider it a member of the family and there was definitely grieving when we left.
I’m about to return to our second family home to help my aging parents for a couple of weeks. It’s been almost six years since I’ve been “home” and I wonder what it’s going to be like.
Now I live in a mobile home in a 55+ community. I guess the girlfriend and cats make it home and my senior neighbors are the best but it’s still a bit more house than home.
I feel there’s another home out there that is family I’ve just not yet met. I hope so much to find it and have it be the last one.
I thought you'd appreciate this realization I had today: "I'm rich enough to throw away the ends of the bread". I didn't, I fed it to my crow stalker
His name is churro, cause that's what made him fall in love with me. It wasn't even a good churro but he's a good bird.
I am pleased you made a crow friend. That's best when you can, I think, because they're frikkin' people smart and you don't want to be on their bad side.
I've got two bird killing mainecoon/Persians, (perfect ASD cats because they never run away from the kids despite the Lenny-love) they know to run for cover from the crow.
I already love your cats.
Ditto
"If we’d been childhood contemporaries, I think we could have been friends." So many layers to that sentence. You truly have a gift for bringing the reader into your experiences.
Butterscotch is divine.