House or Home?

“It doesn’t feel right.” That’s what she said.

 

This was one of the few times that a woman had said that to me, and I didn’t feel somehow let down. Then again she was talking to me and not about me.  She was talking about her house.

 

“It felt so different when we bought it, and now I’m left alone with it, and all the rooms are half empty.” If her house were a glass of water, she’d be a pessimist.

 

And, if her house were a church, this is where she’d have sauntered off her pulpit, and started sermonizing the baritone, cuz now she’s preaching to the choir.  I know exactly what she’s talking about. She and I are previously married homeowners left holding the bag of bank notes. 

 

Oh I’m not accusing MyEx of some nefarious plot to sink me with the house, while she twirled her handlebar mustache laughing like a lawnmower engine that won’t turn over.  The decision about the house was a rational agreement made by two people at wit’s end: We flipped a coin. 

 

Ok, that’s not what happened, but it would be nice to believe I didn’t volunteer into this assignment. Maybe it only looked like I stepped up because everybody else stepped back.  I doesn’t really matter at this point. I kept the house because it was my responsibility. 

 

MyEx did try to help though.  The first words from her mouth were, “I guess we’ll sell the house.” 

 

Still, I’d already considered the decision before she even offered the real estate olive branch.  We live in California.  California is always ahead of all the popular trends, especially those involving collapsing economies, and fiscal irresponsibility.  Our housing market was already capsizing like in the Poseidon Adventure, and this captain was gonna go down on his ship—er with the ship—because the ship has my name on it.

 

My friend lamenting her house though, her reasons are different. Her reasons involve a spiritual crisis, a bleeding hallway and a wall of lost souls that eats priests for breakfast. Every house has its personality; hers screams pure evil.  She says it’s her ex, and I know better than to ask questions.

 

The thing is, even though I went through a friendly divorce, I know how it feels to have a house possessed. Right now, I’m doing all that I can to keep my hose from becoming repossessed, and I’m finding a priest can’t help.

 

My friend though, she built her marriage hammering her house into a home.   Her and her ex bought a fixer-upper and broke down walls while trying to establish something the would shelter them into their future.

 

Unfortunately, some projects turn out bigger than we imagine; whether it’s zombies in the floorboards or partners losing interest in the work, we can’t see into the future unless we’re part time psychics working for the LAPD.  My friend is in marketing; it’s no help at all.  So now she’s sitting inside four walls of half visualized plans, and nobody is there to help her complete them.  She’s ready to take the house’s advice when it screams, “Get out!” I can’t blame her.

 

Me, my house is good.  My house has its memories, and half realized dreams, but it also has me, and I don’t want to move.  It’s not like I’m holding on to what the house once was, but I do see a future in the house. It’s a solid structure, and the things that fell apart before … well I’ve cleaned them up.  Now it’s a new place, and I think that it has a future, if I can find somebody to plan it with me.  And that’s not because I can’t live on my own, but because the house is big.  It’s a warehouse of echoes for one, but a cozy home for two.

 

I have another friend.  She fled her house because things came crashing down on her.  She’s been living in an apartment while she figures things out, but now, she’s ready to move on.  She’s building her new life and she’s looking for structures to match her personality.

 

Unlike my situation where I’m making the best of my situation, she’s found a new opening, and a new beginning. Unencumbered by her previous problems, she’s ready to move onto something else. The market is right for her too. Prices are down, and she can find a turnkey life for half the cost.

 

I’m happy for her, but I don’t envy her. I like where I am. I’ve always been a scrapper. I like the thought of taking what I had and building off of that. It won’t be what I had before, but it will be something fun and uniquely Rob.  It’s my home, and it just feels right.