Wednesday, February 28, 2007

My house

For me, "my house" is the one I lived in when I was 10 to 15. It was in Ottawa Hills, Ohio, where I was very unhappy, but the house was great, and it is still my Platonic ideal of a house.

The only places I have lived almost as long were my first two apartments here in Basel, and neither of them has anything like the resonance of "my house."

(Posted as a comment on Steven Schroeder's blog about his house.)
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1 comment:

Ruth B. Shields said...

I, too, loved that house. In fact, I would buy it in a flash if I could, and maybe never live in it again, but visit from time to time.

I had lunch yesterday with a classmate from high school who just happens to have settled in Sacramento, CA, too, and was telling her just that -- that I loved that house, etc.

I have recurring dreams of coming back to that house and finding some or all of our family there -- Mom and Dad still together, and our belongings strewn about -- and always some catch -- a familiar door or window that opens onto a room or porch that never existed in the real house. Or nightmares of packing up and leaving that house.

4:56 PM

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