Home. I've been known to correct people (known by them, I never seem to remember) when they say "house" to instead say "home." I am not sure if it is the etymological portion of "home" that I prefer or simply the familiarity the term connotes.
As I near my move, I find this theme encroaching upon my normal conscious thought, slinking out of my brain and slipping into my mental state. I am subject to mental wanderings, you know. So what does home mean to me? As of late it's been a hubbub of commotion in my suburban oasis. My parent's home is continually being painted, cut apart, and redone. Nothing beyond recognition. Yet, that certain etch of character, the patina of the house, seems to be wearing away. As supportive as I am of new construction and modern design, I find that the fine scratches and daily wear of 18 years on a home seems to be disappearing as another coat of paint is applied, or another synthetic deck-board is screwed into place. So that's this week's picture--the precise deconstruction of memories and, by the law of conservation of thought, the recycling of mental material into new experiences.
Comments welcome.
1 comment:
i read your post and then i wrote mine which was completely unrelated to yours and off-topic, but i tried to make it seem like it wasn't.
and now i re-read your post a couple of times and i'm not ready to go that deep yet into "home." Home is so complex at times - the feelings, the experiences, the lack of experiences, to free-time.
i must think more before i can fully answer home question.
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