AT HOME WITH FAMILY

Art and I got to Connecticut Friday night. We were lucky because the weather cooperated with us and our flight here was (mostly) okay. (The plane bucked over the Rockies like a bronco buster. You can imagine how happy that made me)!

But we got a beautiful gift today. The sky got pregnant with little grey fish-belly clouds that seemed to get heavier and heavier with each passing hour of the day until at about 2:00 it gave birth to a beautiful baby snow. Now, for two people who have lived in California for most of their adult life, this was an enormous thrill! I can’t remember the last time I saw snow, but it was probably about five years ago (when we lived in Tennessee).

Tonight as I looked out across the street there was a thin layer of white outlining the trees and the houses. Our neighbors had all thoughtfully put up their Christmas lights early this month, so the whole street was glittering and shining. For just a moment we both agreed that this was the only place to be. We could imagine living here year round. We made ourselves a cup of tea and sat in front of the fireplace (although we didn’t have any logs, so we could only imagine the roaring fire).

Of course, we then realized that we would miss California way too much to be here year round. It’s a sad fact that, no matter where we are, we are missing somebody, since Art’s family is here and my family is in California. We decided that the only solution was to have a home in both places, which is what we have finally managed to do.

I don’t know if this was our wisest possible financial decision. I would need a CPA and a crystal ball to tell you that. I do know that it was the best decision for our souls. Family, I have come to believe, is the bedrock that keeps you firmly grounded and centered.

When we moved to Tennessee some ten years ago, we were so foolish that we thought we could just pick up and move to a place where we had no roots. In the six years we lived there, although we had a few very dear friends, nothing could fill that gap. When I got sick back in 2000, it was crystal clear that I had to return to my family. We made a beeline for California. And I’m so glad we did!

But as soon as I was better, I found that I missed Art’s family, too, maybe almost as much as he did. I remember being in Sunday school and learning about Ruth in the Old Testament who said, “Thy people shall be my people.” At the time I didn’t understand how that could happen. Wonderful thing about marriage – it really does.

So we’ll be here for another week, enjoying the nippy weather and setting up house. Hoping for more snow (and hoping it will stop in time for us to make our way back to Sunny California). But mostly, we’ll be enjoying being home with family. I guess the truth is, whenever you’re with family, you’re home.

© 2004, Robin Munson

HOME

We all know what a house is. What is a home?

I think in my lifetime I have moved about twenty times. Every time I moved I called the place I lived in “home”. Even when Art and I are staying at a hotel, we talk about “going home” at the end of the day. It’s amazing how adaptable we are.

But all of this became a relevant topic for me in the past few weeks. My in-laws are in the process of moving. They are leaving their home of forty-eight years, a large, traditional, Cape style house built in 1756. It had originally been a stagecoach stop; a place where people might come to stay the night before moving on to their ultimate destination. It has been added on to a couple of times. What was once a ballroom on the upper floor has been divvied up into several bedrooms and a bath. It has been moved from its original site (although not very far). It still has its original wood beams and wide-planked wood floors in some rooms. There is an original fireplace in the living room. The original house is so old that behind the original lathe and plaster walls, the insulation consists of old newspapers. There is a gracious old maple tree outside the house that provides ample shade in summer and a gorgeous display of foliage in the fall. The saplings that my father-in-law planted some forty odd years ago are now towering pines. What was once a meadow beside the house is now a thick wood. My in-laws still sleep in the same double bed they have throughout their marriage. The floors creak. The doors squeak. The rooms are drafty and are expensive to heat. There are squirrels in the attic. There are mice in the basement. There is a leak somewhere around the chimney. The view across the street is of a farm. The well water is consistently the best water I have ever tasted. There are two buildings on the property besides the house; there is a barn used for storage, and a store. My mother-in-law had a little country craft boutique there for many years. Before that, my father-in-law had a gas station right next door.

This is the place where my husband’s family grew up – the ancestral home. It was the site of many a birthday party, Christmas celebrations, Thanksgiving feasts, and two spectacular parties, one on their fiftieth and one on their sixtieth wedding anniversary.

On Thursday the movers are coming to pick up the furniture. A great deal of the furniture will have to go into storage. They are moving to a much smaller house. It is a neat, white, two-bedroom ranch-style house only a mile from where they live now. But you would think they were moving to another planet.

This house was built around the middle of the last century. It has a dishwasher, disposal, and city water. The basement is large, but the dining room is small. There is no fireplace. There is no second floor. It is next door to the Town Hall. There is no farm across the street. The lot is a tidy green square.

There were a lot of good reasons for the folks to move. The old house had become very demanding, of late: “Fix my chimney!”, “Wash my windows!” “Clean my gutters!” “Clean my septic!” “Paint my sides!” “Trim my trees!” “Weed my garden!” “Rake my leaves!” “Replace my heater!” The list was endless. Marge and Ed have worked so hard to keep up with it all, but at their stage of life, they simply had to let it go.

So, sadly, but bravely, they made their decision. The house they are moving to will be smaller, less demanding, more accommodating to their practical needs. I have no doubt that we will all miss the old house. But the little white house next to town hall will become a home. In time they will imbue it with their spirit. It will be a warm, lively, generous home that will have the smell of apple pie and freshly brewed coffee. Grandchildren and great-grandchildren will come. Trees will be planted. The neighbors will visit. There will be family gatherings at Thanksgiving and Christmas, although they might be a little cozier. And it will be a great place for Ed and Marge to begin their sixty-sixth year of marriage.

Home is a state of mind. It is a place in our hearts made manifest in wood, plaster, paint and glass.

FAMILY

When I was very young and stupid, and even when I was not-so-young and stupid, I thought nothing of pulling up stakes and moving to a strange city. I had the peculiar notion that I could simply uproot myself, transplant my life, and thrive anywhere I happened to land.

What I have learned is that it just doesn’t work. If I am a rose, I simply can not plunk myself down in the middle of a cactus patch and expect to be happy. Maybe some flowers are different, but for me, I need family. I need roots. I need to feel connected.

All of this has been becoming crystal clear to me for the past couple of days. Art and I came back to Connecticut in order to connect with his side of the family. His parents are in the middle of a very emotional move. They’re leaving the ancestral home of forty-eight years – It’s just time for them to consolidate a little. To live in a less demanding environment so that they can relax a little. And while there is ample reason for them to make this move, it is nonetheless extremely difficult for them. At the same time, Art’s brother is facing a serious health challenge. How could we not be here? Finally, we are in the process of buying a condo here in Connecticut so that we can spend more time with Art’s family. For most of our married life we have lived in Los Angeles, and this has been wonderful for us – especially since my mother and two sisters and their kids live in L.A. But it has meant that Art’s family gets short shrift. Neither of us wants that – so here we are.

Today we spent the day packing boxes and lugging them out of their old house. We spent hours just sitting at the trestle table in my in-laws’ kitchen talking about anything and everything. We took out pizza for dinner from the Italian restaurant across the street. It’s been a hard day, in some ways, and to tell the truth, I’m pretty wiped.

But I just want to say this – Family is not something you are born into; it is something that you create with your heart and your hands. What makes people family is not blood ties. Blood ties just create genetics. To be truly related as family requires many small acts of kindness. If you think about it, your mother, your father, your aunt, your sibling, are not important to you because of an accident of birth, but rather because they made you chicken soup when you were sick, or because they took you to a Twilight Double Header, or because they let you cry when you needed to.

Family is a blessing. I’m tired, but I’m happy.