There is magic in that little world, home: it is a mystic circle that surrounds comforts and virtues never known beyond its hallowed limits. – Robert Southey, poet
Last week my brother gave me a DVD of converted 16mm film home movies shot in the 40’s, 50’s and 60’s. There were a lot of people I didn’t recognize and some scenery that I did. I saw my uncle Jim and his wife, their baby daughter, other cousins, and grandparents I’d never met. I gasped when I saw my aunt Bess in her wedding gown (the 50’s KNEW how to deck out a bride!). I watched my teenage dad trying to balance on the top of a capsized canoe. I saw my mom with her bouffant hairdo emerge from the house where I grew up, shepherding my brothers out the front door. It was a wonderful trip back in time.
Finally, in the middle of the show, it occurred to me that there was another character involved that I didn’t recognize but had heard about before. It was the house on Crenshaw that my dad had moved to when he was a child. The house was a major player…Christmas mornings, rose garden tours, backyard barbecues, all with the same backdrop…the home.
At the end, the house where I grew up made a cameo appearance. I pointed things out to my husband, who had never seen it “That was my bedroom! – “That door led into the foyer and the dining room was to the right!” – “Oh, look at the backyard before all the tress grew and the family room addition was put on!” I felt like I was introducing him to an old friend.
That’s what a home is – a major player in our lives. It cocoons us when we dream, supports us as we pace and plan, and keeps the external elements at bay while we’re trying to deal with the internal drama we all face daily.
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