Home, sweet, home
I was on a zoom yesterday and the facilitator based on a poem she had read asked all of us to talk about what “home” meant to us. Almost everyone had a different answer. My answer was threefold. Home for me is family, certain objects that make where I live a home for me, and the concept of feeling at home in my skin/body. So to speak to the first one, I grew in a home that valued family. My father always joked, “If you are from the greater Memphis area or related to the Goodman or Erlich families there is a room for you at, just call.” My mother hails from Memphis as part of a large (think 3rd cousins) southern family that is in the south and midwest. In fact, for my mother, this extended beyond family to friends and children of friends. The seders of my childhood were lively with a gathering of family and friends (Retired nun, anyone?!). Not to mention the many times my maternal grandparents visited and stayed with us. I was sure my grandmother’s flopping leg exercises would break the sofa bed, but they never did. Getting together with family today is like putting on an old familiar sweater and discovering it still fits. I’ll skip number two for now and head straight to number three. When my paternal grandmother was first diagnosed as having depression, her fist medication made her feel like she was “crawling out of her skin.” (She was immediately placed on a different and better medication). At t his point my grandmother had outlived two husbands and a son which in my opinion would be ample reason to have depression. There are mornings I wake up and feel off and say to myself what my grandmother said to herself, “I feel like I’m crawling out of my skin.” In translation, I don’t feel at home today with myself. Each time I reflect on the possible cause and sometimes have answers and most times don’t. Now back to number two…In my tiny house wisdom, if I could only keep 10 items that mean “home” to me, here is my list…
The framed copy of our family Motto: Love (unconditionally), Listen (with internet) and Laugh (as much as possible)
The photograph of my dad at age 5 wearing an army uniform costume so he could like be like his uncle serving stateside in WW II
Mama-g’s (my maternal grandmother) armchair and ottoman
Grandma Syd’s (my paternal grandmother) armchair
The paper house my father and I put together (Remember those books where you could cut out and assemble an entire paper village?)
My Shabbat candlesticks
“Mali’s Kitchen” embroidered aprons that were gifted to me by my parents for my 14th birthday (I was already at this age cooking gourmet dinners on occasional Saturday nights.)
My sewing machine (still working after more than 30 years!)
Merenda, the teddy bear I got at age 7 or 8
My memory box, a hard briefcase that belonged to my great-uncle that contains mementos from home, my grandparents, my dad, and my childhood.
These are the 10 things I would take to my tiny home, If I had a little more room, I would add my snoopy doll with the clothes and bed I made for him, the pillows made from my favorite sweater of my dad’s (I would sneak and wear it in HS) and the family portrait Sylvie drew and gave me for my birthday one year.