Going home

[vintage.vendeuse]

After I graduated from college, I moved from Michigan to Florida. Several years and one divorce later, I returned to my hometown. At that time, I really had no appreciation for my "homecoming". It was an upsetting, frustrating, just plain horrible period of my life. It took a few years, but I settled back down and now I get such joy by living in my home area. My current house is only five blocks from the house in which I grew up. Sometimes the pangs of nostalgia are a bit sad but it's a happy-sad.

That said, it still wouldn't prevent me from leaving again if the right opportunity presented itself, lol!

 

[St. Louis]

New York City was never really my home, but I lived there briefly in my twenties (I think for about a year and a half.) I loved that city passionately and found it endlessly interesting and evocative of the 1930s, a decade I loved even then. I always felt as though I was walking around in a black-and-white movie.

A few years ago I returned to NYC for a work-related project and was pained to discover that it had become a theme park. I hope I'm not offending anyone who lives there -- it's still one of the great cities of the world, and I enjoyed every moment of my visit. But it's not the same place. It's become desperately expensive. I sure couldn't afford to live there now! The apartment I had shared with about fifty-two other girls is now a luxury high rise. I think what bothers me most is that the old cafeterias, dime stores, and factories are gone. Everything's very elegant and much cleaner than when I lived there (probably safer too) but the old working-class city has disappeared.

 

[Big Man]

Excepting my time in college, I've lived within 15 miles of where my family has been since 1764. I can't really even think about what it would be like not to live anywhere else. I do, however have a "going home" experience that I think meets the intent of this thread.

As a child, I spent most every weekend and most all my summers with my grandmother and aunt who lived in the old family homeplace. My grandparents bought the house in 1917, and remained there the rest of their lives. My aunt, who never married and always lived at home, would come and pick me up from my parent's house every Friday after school and take me back to "Maw's house." Then, on Sunday, my parents would come after church and we would have a big family dinner, then sit in the yard and talk. They would take me home "screaming and crying" Sunday evening. Then on the next Friday, there would be my aunt Hazel ready to take me back home to my Maw's. Growing up, I always dreamed of one day living in my Maw's old house. When my grandmother died, the house passed to my aunt with the understanding it would eventually pass to me.

Fast forward about 50 years. I was married and had a family of four children and two grandchildren. I'd built my own home and had lived there for a little over 30 years. My grandmother had passed in 1983 at the age of 101, and my aunt had finally moved in with my Dad due to her advancing age. My aunt had deeded me the old homeplace, just as my grandmother had wanted, but I was still working a full-time job, had two children left in school, and was spending every free minute of my time caring for my aged aunt and my Dad. I'd get up early, go to my dad's and get his and my aunt's breakfast, then go to work and deal with all kinds of things (I was the Safety Director for a large State psychiatric hospital), come back to my Dad's during the day to check on everyone, then after work come back to my Dad's and get their supper and stay there till around midnight. I'd then go home, fall into bed, and start all over early the next morning. This was my routine for almost six years. My only break from life would be on Saturday's when, after I'd got everyone's breakfast, I'd come up to the old homeplace and mow the grass, open the doors and windows and "air out the place", and just "decompress" for several hours till it was time to go back and start all over again. When it wasn't grass mowing season, I'd just sit in the old house and look at old pictures and reminisce about the good times when everyone was young and healthy.

My aunt passed in 2006 and my Dad in 2008. I worked a couple more months after my Dad passed (I already had my 30 years in with the State) until I decided that it was time for me to go. I retired, we closed up the house, and moved "back home" to my Maw's old house. It was the best move I ever made. After all those years of dreaming about living in the old homeplace, I was finally here. In the quite of the evenings I can still "hear" my Maw, my aunts, and my Mom and Dad. I look out and see my little granddaughter playing in the yard and can "see" myself all those years ago. The feeling of really being "home" is wonderful. There truly is "no place like home."

 

[Gregg Axley]

Excepting my time in college, I've lived within 15 miles of where my family has been since 1764. I can't really even think about what it would be like not to live anywhere else. I do, however have a "going home" experience that I think meets the intent of this thread.

As a child, I spent most every weekend and most all my summers with my grandmother and aunt who lived in the old family homeplace. My grandparents bought the house in 1917, and remained there the rest of their lives. My aunt, who never married and always lived at home, would come and pick me up from my parent's house every Friday after school and take me back to "Maw's house." Then, on Sunday, my parents would come after church and we would have a big family dinner, then sit in the yard and talk. They would take me home "screaming and crying" Sunday evening. Then on the next Friday, there would be my aunt Hazel ready to take me back home to my Maw's. Growing up, I always dreamed of one day living in my Maw's old house. When my grandmother died, the house passed to my aunt with the understanding it would eventually pass to me.

Fast forward about 50 years. I was married and had a family of four children and two grandchildren. I'd built my own home and had lived there for a little over 30 years. My grandmother had passed in 1983 at the age of 101, and my aunt had finally moved in with my Dad due to her advancing age. My aunt had deeded me the old homeplace, just as my grandmother had wanted, but I was still working a full-time job, had two children left in school, and was spending every free minute of my time caring for my aged aunt and my Dad. I'd get up early, go to my dad's and get his and my aunt's breakfast, then go to work and deal with all kinds of things (I was the Safety Director for a large State psychiatric hospital), come back to my Dad's during the day to check on everyone, then after work come back to my Dad's and get their supper and stay there till around midnight. I'd then go home, fall into bed, and start all over early the next morning. This was my routine for almost six years. My only break from life would be on Saturday's when, after I'd got everyone's breakfast, I'd come up to the old homeplace and mow the grass, open the doors and windows and "air out the place", and just "decompress" for several hours till it was time to go back and start all over again. When it wasn't grass mowing season, I'd just sit in the old house and look at old pictures and reminisce about the good times when everyone was young and healthy.

My aunt passed in 2006 and my Dad in 2008. I worked a couple more months after my Dad passed (I already had my 30 years in with the State) until I decided that it was time for me to go. I retired, we closed up the house, and moved "back home" to my Maw's old house. It was the best move I ever made. After all those years of dreaming about living in the old homeplace, I was finally here. In the quite of the evenings I can still "hear" my Maw, my aunts, and my Mom and Dad. I look out and see my little granddaughter playing in the yard and can "see" myself all those years ago. The feeling of really being "home" is wonderful. There truly is "no place like home."

:eusa_clap

My grandmother's house became available, when she moved in with my dad (due to advancing age and a stroke).
I bought it, rather than let someone else purchase something that had been in the family 20yrs (then).
Now 21yrs later, I still love the house, because I spent a lot of time here.
It has a large corner lot, a large addition with a fireplace (and wood paneling with orange carpet Powers would just die for), and I bought it well under the market value (instant equity).
I'm in the process of renovating it in areas that desperately need it, because my wife deserves something nicer (the house is dated but far from being in disrepair).
Considering she went from a double wide trailer, to an apartment (first husband), to an actual house, this is a step up.
It's a strange feeling to pull out the photo albums, and see the rooms of this house as they were 30-40yrs ago, as I'm standing in that exact same room.
We all go through periods of adjustment, and one of my worst happened from 1996-1999.
The deaths of several close friends and family, careers that didn't work out, etc.
In those times, you need a constant, something that never changes, that you can rely on no matter how bad or chaotic life gets.
This house was my constant.
Everything stayed the same, from the placement of the furniture and artwork (my grandmother was a painter), to keeping the house immaculate, to even keeping her car in the carport clean.
It wasn't until right before I got married (6yrs after my grandmother died) that I started using the 400sq ft addition again.
I suppose it was because I wasn't actually home long enough to enjoy it, for about 3yrs.
Until I explained it to my wife, she didn't understand why I like this house so much, considering it "was" dated when she moved here.
I've lived in this house continuously for 20yrs, and before that I was over here weekly since 1973.
No matter where I go from here, this is home.
And while some may laugh at my next statement, many in my family agree that this would be a great idea.
When I decide to move, I'm going to hire a contractor (I know 2-3 good ones) to duplicate at least 2 rooms of this house, in the next one.
Today that's called a "man cave" for who knows why because it's not actually a cave, and the men I've seen with one, wouldn't go in an actual cave to begin with.
To me, it will become a "solitude" wing of the house, a place (like Big Man said) where I can decompress from the stress I have to put up with.

 

[Big Man]

... In those times, you need a constant, something that never changes, that you can rely on no matter how bad or chaotic life gets. ...

True words, for sure.

I'm so glad that in times of trouble I had (and still do have) a solid foundation in my religion, in my family (even though many of them they are now "gone", it's like they are still here), and a place I can really call home.