The house that has no love is the home that never was:
I know that talking about homes as part of a blog post seems like a strange thing to do but I feel as though the topic needs to be addressed, the topic has been sitting on my chest for a little while now. Last year I lived across four different forms of accommodation from the process of begging study than venturing into the working world. Every time I moved somewhere new I faced a new feeling and a new approach at how I would tackle the future in regard to the home I would create for my one day family.
My mum and I are very different people, everyone always asks why I don’t write about her the same way I do my dad, people may think I have a strained relationship with her, which isn’t the case at all, as my mother and I are as close as a mother and daughter can get, however, when I was born I inherited every emotional outlook from my father and every physical characteristic from my mother, I will write a blog post on it one day but right now I am getting off track! My parents are two very different people and the way they choose to keep their homes may not be the way I choose to keep mine.
My mother insists on keeping a tidy home, she devotes her time to tinkering around the house spraying eucalyptus oil to every visible surface to ensure its clean, pictures of our giant family hang in a direct straight line with no creases to our freshly washed sheets. The way I like to describe my mums home is perfect, it’s the same as when you walk into a display home, with every corner of the sheet straightened to depict viewers emotions on the perfect life they ”could” very much have if they were to purchase the steel frames house and I guess to an extent my mother does have a perfect life, a beautiful family, an amazing career, an independent women who strive for feminist approval, her home shows that.
Now my dad home, ‘a bachelor’s pad’ that’s for sure, for as long as I can remember I was changing sheets, washing the motor oil out of work clothes and picking socks up off the floor. Absolutely no care to the way his home is kept, if a cup stays on the table for a week it would not matter to dad, I once asked dad why he believes it’s ok to keep such a messy home, my remark was quickly shut down with the “it’s my home I will do as I please”. If you know my father you would know he is the happiest man to ever encounter this town and the way he keeps his home does somewhat represent the way he is, carefree to people’s judgement and content within himself.
However both of these homes never seem to make anyone uncomfortable for they are both people who have a halo of ‘welcomness’, they greet you with a smile and a cup of tea, their homes somehow represent the way they are as people, once you pick away at the edges of an exterior feature.
So I guess those two vastly different upbringings since the age of 7 set me up for the way I was to create a future home. I now watch my sisters and brothers build homes and alter them to the way they want, coffee beans filling the kitchen and cubby houses filling the backyards, all having different ways of creating the perfect lifestyle they wish to have. I see bits of mum in Lauren as she ultimately vacuums direct mess at the scene and bits of dad in Stacey as she will relish in the moment of a cup of tea outside before taking to the dishes inside later that night, my brother Damien doesn’t have a home he wanders like a lost soul looking for nothing in particular but relishing in the given moment, some days he will call from Bali other days he will call from the Pilbara, his home is this world as a whole, if you are to ever meet Damien the way he has approached life and his carefree attempt at gripping everything he can while he can radiate from him and it will all make sense.
I have always been an odd observer, always taken things in that people normally wouldn’t and affected by it emotionally, when I would visit friends homes I would look at their family photos and the way their house was arranged, the way visitors felt when they opened the flyscreen and how the atmosphere was set up by the homeowners. If I was shoved homemade cookies or given no direction to the loo. Everything that was going on in these homes I made mental note about what made me most comfortable and how I could contribute that to my future home, it’s like I would grab all these through and put them in a mental empty coke bottle and store them for when I needed them.
Everyone feels different when walking into a house, I can walk into my friend’s house and feel completely at home, feet up and kettle on. Others I sit back straight, but that is just me, some people don’t take any notice of their surrounds and it doesn’t alter their emotional connection at all. The only reason I can put my capability to notice these things is because I ‘house hopped’ from two vastly different homes on a regular basis, mums for breakfast, dads for lunch before zipping off to my sisters Rachels for dinner. My life has never been one of a complete fixture and maybe all I ever yearned for was that. Or maybe it is my undying need to be a mother and a housewife, for all I want is to create that home that smells of jam and is warmed with the love my family generates, whatever it is I can’t exactly put my finger on it.
Sometimes I wonder if I am going to get where I want to be, sometimes I wonder if I will create a home like my mums, or my fathers or if every little thing I feel inside counteracts my home and if that those messages in my metaphorical coke bottle will fall out and paint themselves across the walls.
I was talking to my friend last night about her ‘champagne taste’ when it comes to nearly everything and how she wants her future home to have cowhide on the floor and leather couches, she wants the garden to bloom all year round, despite that, her, as an individual makes anyone feel welcomed so surely her future home, she is someone who screams homemaker and I can already tell I will crave her home, for the smell of homemade relish and her babies RM Williams booties will be too much to resist. Her personality will do the same and her smile and laugh will radiate through the windows and doorways of her home.
Now that I am looking at properties and trailing this house possession stage of life, I have walked through homes that tell tales of heartache and loss and others that explode stories of previous family joys.
To everyone who is a homeowner, create happy homes, if I feel happiness visiting I can only imagine the happiness people who live there would feel.
I wonder what my home will feel like, I wonder everyone will fall walking through the door.