As Promised: Why I Like C's House Better Than My House
At my house, I have one room which I get to make my own. I have my red chair by my window, and my glorious bed, my polkadot lamp, my pink table, a huge stack of magazines with the pages turned to short hair pictures, my chest full of nothing but shoes, my notebooks, my artwork, my page-a-day knitting calendar... my stuff. I feel very cozy in my room. The rest of the house is still slightly alienating to me. It's like an apartment building. There's nothing I can do to infuse it with any character. I have an Equality brand beef pie in the freezer, and three bagels. I haven't investigated the inhabitants of my shelf in the refrigerator in about two weeks. I keep meaning to, but it seems everytime I turn around the garbage can is missing, or full, or tied shut. The burners on the stove smoke, from whatever was last spilled on them. The lights are always on.
At C's house, every room is full of character, full of stuff. There are necklaces strung up by the sink in the bathroom; matching plates on the table; a butcher's block beside the stove; an herb patch by the back step; a sectional sofa; a deep front window; a jar full of rockets (candy) on the coffee table. The cat drinks milk out of a bowl painted with fish that came from the Epcot centre; chicken comes with Swiss Chalet sauce; milkshakes are made with fresh strawberries; and popcorn doesn't go in the microwave -- it goes in a pot. Afterwards it gets seasoned.
Last night I finally realized what it is - my house is just a house. C's house is a home. After enough time spent moving through enough crappy renting options and shady apartments, that becomes really important.
posted by Alexis at 7/05/2006 04:39:00 p.m.
2 Comments:
:)
The trick to creating a place that you love is more to do with the way that you infuse your space. I think that mine is more of a home because there are many things that I grew up with that surround me. My green couch came from Guelph before I was born and was my parent's favourite cuddling spot when i was little; the beige one also has many memories, and was purchased because it's long and can fit my tall family and their feet. When I had feet small enough, I used to get them caught in the spindles of the chairs surrounding my kitchen table. The plants in my windows all have places of unique origin, my grandmother, and my third grade teacher (yes I've kept my science project alive that long)! I've had the elephant bells on my the back of my door since I was eight: they were given to me by my now 'out-of-the-picture' step mom, who was awesome. Aside from the fact that my Dad is an amazing artist and carpenter who fabricated my faux-antique TV stand, butcher's block, spice cupboard, and heart shaped bed (that's actually square ;), there are few things in my house that didn't come from an intense background of love.
However , with that said, I feel that this is not the reason that my house is a home. It may help in the comfort level, but the real component is the people that you can share it with. Single apartments suck for that reason. Aside from my cat (who may in fact be the luckiest cat ever), its pretty un-homey until there are people that I can cook for, laugh with and share the space with. So thank you A and the SXPC for becoming part of my life and making my tiny little flat a home with laughter.
Love you
C
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