Sunday, January 10, 2010

Anthropomorphism of a Bungalow

I am "un-decorating" the Bungalow today. Taking down and packing away the holiday decor that has graced it's walls, floors, mantel and window sills for the past 6 weeks. As I do this, and sip my coffee, I reflect on why we decorate and adorn our homes, especially my new Bungalow.

My new home, my bungalow, has been a stranger in my life since we closed on it, late last summer. I didn't trust it, didn't feel at ease in it, had a hard time seeing how it was going to relate to me or serve my family.

I had "buyers" remorse for a while after moving into it. It could have been part of the moving process. Moving a family of 4 during the dog days of a humid Chicago summer is no picnic. Perhaps it was trying to assimilate into this new space while navigating a new/old job that was increasingly sucking the life out of me. And then there is was the challenge getting my children at ease in their new home and neighborhood while still learning to live in their "mom's house"/"dad's house" world. It all stung a little.

We painted, repaired, carpeted and hung curtains. We adjusted furniture, set up new living patterns and created livable space. We turned a frightening, tore up yard into a little urban oasis with a cedar swing set, flowers, grass and a tall, safe fence. But I was still floating, still suspicious. Nothing was easing my anxiety. Not the lovely neighbors who invited us over for dinner, not the welcome visit from the Alderman's office, not even the sound of children playing at the playground across the street.

So I wrapped the ornaments, deconstructed the train tracks under the tree and then popped out to the front stoop to retrieve the silly, snowman wreath when I turned to go back inside the house and for the first time, I saw it. I saw my homes' face. I saw my house looking at me. In the process of learning how to live in it, fixing it...my house became my home.

I come from a family who celebrate holidays and life markers to fullest extent. I've even referred to my family as "militant" holidays supporters. So we decorate, cook special meals and take time to mark occasions, big and small. The past 6 weeks our home reflected our family photos, our memories in the form of handmade ornaments, our familiar patterns in the forms of meals cooking and candles lit. We hosted a party and repeated long traditions. And now I understand why.

These things are all part of a formula, a subtle yet powerful formula that transforms ordinary space into a very personal component of our lives. Our house, our 1922 Bungalow, came to life for me--finally. I see it now, and am not afraid anymore. My husband and I will make plans in it and for it. My children will seek safety and comfort within it. Our memories will grow and enrich it. I will forever know that during a very cold winter of 2010, our Bungalow became another member of our family. Our home.

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