Moving Again

Can't afford to live here. Truly... don't want to be here. Meander is not loving the three flights.

Place is so small, I can't describe it. Okay. I'll try.

Bedroom will hold the bed and maybe a bookcase. Living room not much bigger. 'Kitchenette' off to one side.

............

I guess I'm growing into some kind of spiritual understanding... (at my age). I had a co-worker who I admire look at some apartments with me.... with the thought of moving in together. He's spent a lot of time with wealthy people and he's earned some bucks himself. Had a home in Florida. Bought one in Eastern Europe with his lover and outfitted it to the nth degree. Had to leave his lover and came back to nothing. Lives with a friend in his 600,000 house.

We were looking at a two bedroom... large view of the lake. It was filthy.... single guy.... never cleaned. But this realty company does clean. Looked at another. Nice. As we walked away, my friend said that he had to stop thinking about where and what he had been.... and then, reneged.

I have been there twice now. I'm about to give up most of what I own. If God is laughing, I'll be there with the ex.

But.... it's not things. It's emotional and spiritual freedom that's important. It's Meander getting to walk right out the front door without stress. It's driving to work with money in the bank.

I'm handling this, but I'm not.

Timing is Everything

So today I got to work early and went into the greenhouse. The Mafioso Mourning Doves were stalking me for food, as were the Sparrows... but only after raucous efforts at love making by all. The Starlings were doing their weird impressions and the Sparrows began looking for their nesting areas.

The only 'flowers' I have are bulbs... daffs, tulips and hyacinths. No other plants, but it was 60 degrees out and I pressed the store manager to open the gate and let people know we were in business. He did.

People came. Out went mulch and fertilizer and grass seed and fencing and houseplants. There were questions about bald spots in the lawn, prime time to fertilize, when to kill weeds.

People were buying carts of lawn furniture.... grills were a hot commodity.

I was asked if we had Pansies yet.

..........

And the thought that's been niggling at me since November was still twitching, but I was too busy to parse it.

I clocked out and came home. There were kids in the park on the swings. Warm earth breath on my face. Crocus' were blooming... wild and purple.

I turned the key in the gangway door.

It's March 11th and this is all wrong.

Finding 'Home'

The very first person who ever read my very first blog post long, long ago wrote this. His name is Colin Ellard and he is pretty damned fascinating. Look him up and you'll see what he's all about. You could even buy his book.

He posted this today and I read it quickly while standing behind a shed at work having a cigarette. It stopped me in my tracks.

I had never given thought to the first place where I drew breath. And then, I thought that since I was born in a hospital- not a house, as he was, how profound could that be? I mean, there's just something different about it.

But then I thought.... my spirit dragged my damaged little body into the world and what would it be like to stand in that room and try to fathom the first flicker of 'me'?

It still has me pondering.


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The Beginning of Everything

In about three weeks, I'm going to fly back to the beginning of everything. Or at least the beginning of my everything. I'm going home.

One of the things that I'm most interested in is the interaction between home and psyche. I've tried to understand this link in a number of different ways: I've conducted impromptu interviews with friends, family and strangers on the meaning of home. I've designed elaborate virtual reality simulations of homes that people can walk through while wearing a suite of instruments that measure their physiological state. I've talked to architects, designers, stagers, planners about what home means, and I've sat on committees where we've turned questions about home upside-down and sideways.

Now it's time to get a little more personal. I suppose, in a way, you'd call this a pilgrimage. In fact, I'm certain that that's what it is. But in my case, I'm not going to walk the Camino. I'm going to retrace my own path across the planet from the day that I was born up to the present. I'm going to re-visit every place that I've ever called home.

The journey begins in early April when I'll find myself on the doorstep of an ordinary looking house in Stevenage where, about a half-century ago, I was born. I don't know yet whether I'll be able to go inside the house, but that's my fondest hope and the truest beginning I can think of for a project such as this one.

Right now, for me, the idea of standing in the room where I came into being seems too staggeringly huge to even contemplate. I think there are many reasons for this, and my own special professional interest in home is only a part of the story. I'm also an immigrant and, like all who migrate from their homeland to some other domain, the very idea of "home" becomes something great and unknowable -- a mythical land to which there is no easy return. Until I began to think about this project, the very idea that I was "from" somewhere seemed academic and sterile. Intellectually, I knew it was true, but emotionally, I felt nothing. Will all of that change when I see the room where the me-egg hatched?