Friday, January 14, 2011

From far to home.

“Far from home” is a relative thing, depending on where you define home.  And as time passes, and “Home” changes, so does what we think of as far from it.

I was 14 when we moved from Lexington, Mass. to Salt Lake City.  Not only did I see myself as moving 2/3 of the way across the country, I thought I was moving out to the wild west.  It was 1974, I’d grown up on The Brady Bunch and John Wayne movies, so I won’t fault myself for really believing I was going to live on a ranch and ride my horse to school every day.  Nope, no such luck.  It was a city.  Very small city by my east coast eyes, but still my school had no hitchin’ posts, the sidewalks were concrete instead of wood and there were buildings more than 2 stories tall.

When I first saw this house, it seemed like the furthest thing from home.  All our furniture and worldly belongings were lost somewhere in the mid-west so the moving company put us up in a hotel.  For about two months “home” was an empty shell we were painting and re-flooring, the breakfast table was at Marie Callender’s restaurant and dinner was whatever fast food place struck our fancy that night. But, despite still considering myself (partly) a Bostonian, it did become home and even though I was no longer living there when it was sold, it was hard to see it go.  


Kalei's Best Friend said...

change can be hard but, I think in time that house did become a part of you... a lot of history was there.. I like the shape of the second story- the roundness is very unique.

Max said...

Thanks. It was a great house to spend my teenage years in. My room was downstairs on the north end, my parent's room on the upstairs on the south side. I could blast my radio in the middle of the night and, unless they went into the kitchen for a snack, they never knew.

Pamela said...

and yet.. not so far in your memories.
Made me sigh.

bruce said...

i agree with KBF interesting architechture (sp?)

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Max said...

It was an interesting house. The living room (upstairs) and family room (called the 'playroom' in the 70's) were circular with a bank of 8'x4' windows facing out over the city. I'll have to post a bunch of pictures of the inside one of these days.

Carmi said...

I remember wondering, when we pulled into a snowbound city late at night with a two-year-old in the back seat and no family within hundreds of miles, when this place would feel like home. Or indeed if it would ever.

Somehow, we made it our home. Just as you did. But your experience was way more fun to read!