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Nov. 22nd, 2006 02:32 pmmr_heathen asked about home. this is what i said.
it's been flipping around for me lately. the definition of home. i am starting to think it isn't where the heart is - but where it isn't. home has become about longing and nostalgia and the sort of rose colored glasses - remembering only the good parts that whatever home i am living in at the moment could never live up to.
home in michigan right now smells cold and brown and wet. rainy with the ground soaking up the wet just in time to freeze extra hard. nothing feels soft. feet crunch on every surface, the wind and air push back hard against your skin when you walk outside, and the trees have given up the last of their colorful affectations and just reach up to the sky waiting to hold bushels of snow.
home in san francisco is nights lost to a smoky apartment in berkely hiding behind whiskey bottles. home is a musty apartment in the western addition with dark windows and bright paint in the kitchen. it living with cat hair tumbleweeds in a huge flat across from the lexington where we would turn out the lights and open the windows. because you can heard street noises better in the dark and there was always drama outside of the bar. it is living off of haight street and trying not to deck the tourists that walk too slow when i am just trying to get the groceries home. it's living in the sunset, on the one corner where the fog doesn't block the ocean. where even when it's overcast the house feels bright with daytime because there are so many windows and it takes no work at all to feel like i have lived here forever.
and tomorrow. home will feel like the warm houses that i go to. where everyone has their own personalities that will cross over and interlap and mix up with everyone elses. and we will share food and stories and love and cranky. it will be rushed and madhouse and relaxing and family.
come friday - i will find the nostalgia about all of these things and then they will be home.
it's been flipping around for me lately. the definition of home. i am starting to think it isn't where the heart is - but where it isn't. home has become about longing and nostalgia and the sort of rose colored glasses - remembering only the good parts that whatever home i am living in at the moment could never live up to.
home in michigan right now smells cold and brown and wet. rainy with the ground soaking up the wet just in time to freeze extra hard. nothing feels soft. feet crunch on every surface, the wind and air push back hard against your skin when you walk outside, and the trees have given up the last of their colorful affectations and just reach up to the sky waiting to hold bushels of snow.
home in san francisco is nights lost to a smoky apartment in berkely hiding behind whiskey bottles. home is a musty apartment in the western addition with dark windows and bright paint in the kitchen. it living with cat hair tumbleweeds in a huge flat across from the lexington where we would turn out the lights and open the windows. because you can heard street noises better in the dark and there was always drama outside of the bar. it is living off of haight street and trying not to deck the tourists that walk too slow when i am just trying to get the groceries home. it's living in the sunset, on the one corner where the fog doesn't block the ocean. where even when it's overcast the house feels bright with daytime because there are so many windows and it takes no work at all to feel like i have lived here forever.
and tomorrow. home will feel like the warm houses that i go to. where everyone has their own personalities that will cross over and interlap and mix up with everyone elses. and we will share food and stories and love and cranky. it will be rushed and madhouse and relaxing and family.
come friday - i will find the nostalgia about all of these things and then they will be home.
