So poignant. A love letter to your first home. And you painted the rooms and memories so vividly with your words that I was there with you in each moment. Thank you. This is how I felt about my family cottage when I had to sell it. The walls were embedded with memories, laughter, tears and conversations from five generations. I still go there in my dreams, as you do. ❤️
Wow. The way this sweeps along is incredible. I find it really hard to write about two different moments in time, and you do it so seamlessly and beautifully. Thanks for sharing this!
Beautiful<3 I loved listening to you read it. I also dream over and over about certain houses, and not at all about others. I also dream of a house that doesn't exist here in the waking world - over and over and over for years I've dreamed about it.
Kristi, I want to hear more about that house you dream of that doesn't exist (but clearly also does)! In an essay of your own? It makes me think of the house, which is really a kind of world, in the novel Piranesi. Have you read it?
I have not, but I just looked it up and it has a similar feel to my dream world house. I'll have to check it out! And, yes, I hadn't thought about writing about it until I read your essay, great idea!
You've had so many adventures in and out of houses. Your theology of place has shifted and grown with each arrival and each leaving. I feel solidarity with you in that my eyes also go to imperfections in my house, same within myself. Houses and humans, so much the same.
Indeed, so much the same! You're right--I have developed a theology of place. Didn't mean to, but couldn't stop paying attention. Love you for seeing that.
I really love these stories about houses--and so much more!
Ah Rebecca, thank you!
So poignant. A love letter to your first home. And you painted the rooms and memories so vividly with your words that I was there with you in each moment. Thank you. This is how I felt about my family cottage when I had to sell it. The walls were embedded with memories, laughter, tears and conversations from five generations. I still go there in my dreams, as you do. ❤️
Ah, Julie. I'm not surprised we have this kind of home connection in common!
I love the use of second person in this post.
Christina, I am addicted to second person in recent years. I find it helps me hold my past selve(s) with more tenderness.
Wow. The way this sweeps along is incredible. I find it really hard to write about two different moments in time, and you do it so seamlessly and beautifully. Thanks for sharing this!
Thank you for that encouragement, Andrew!
Beautiful<3 I loved listening to you read it. I also dream over and over about certain houses, and not at all about others. I also dream of a house that doesn't exist here in the waking world - over and over and over for years I've dreamed about it.
Kristi, I want to hear more about that house you dream of that doesn't exist (but clearly also does)! In an essay of your own? It makes me think of the house, which is really a kind of world, in the novel Piranesi. Have you read it?
I have not, but I just looked it up and it has a similar feel to my dream world house. I'll have to check it out! And, yes, I hadn't thought about writing about it until I read your essay, great idea!
I love all the colors in this essay.
I love that you noticed something I didn’t!
This is so lovely, Rebecca, so tender.
Thank you, Laura.
You've had so many adventures in and out of houses. Your theology of place has shifted and grown with each arrival and each leaving. I feel solidarity with you in that my eyes also go to imperfections in my house, same within myself. Houses and humans, so much the same.
Indeed, so much the same! You're right--I have developed a theology of place. Didn't mean to, but couldn't stop paying attention. Love you for seeing that.