This is kind of a “rainy day central”.
About 5 feet through an entry hall and the bottom of the staircase, is the family room,. Here, we find a wall of built in book shelves, a very large fireplace and mantle, a large TV and shelves of movies, two more sofas with five afghans and pillows, chairs, a large coffee table, end tables, my grandpa’s antique chest of drawers, the kids’ computer desk, the door to the patio, the door to the garage and my part of the house, and French doors to the lanai out front. Up one step is the breakfast area containing Grandpa Hasty’s antique table that we use when it is just the four of us as there is no room for all the table leaves. The kitchen joins that room.
I’ve probably left out something but you get the picture. We combined Dee’s spacious two bedroom two bath condo and my five bedroom large home. We gave away enough of everything to furnish another house when we moved in together. We’ve continued to take lots of stuff to Goodwill. The house does not appear to be crowded but it is.
BUT this, my dears, is what is called a home. I’ve never been much of a house cleaner but I’ve always said my house is clean enough that you are not apt to catch anything. Dee is a much better housekeeper than I am, especially since I’ve gotten old. I was a 50’s and 60’s housewife, where every room in the house was supposed to be spotless, clutter free, and look just like a picture in Home Beautiful. Those were the years that formed my idea of the perfect home. No, of course I never achieved it but maybe 50% on a good day. One was supposed to rear a family and be a perfect wife in a house that looked as if no one lived in it. Oh, I almost forgot, one was supposed to be a gourmet cook as well.
One place where we lived, we were invited to the bank president’s house fairly often. His wife appeared to me, to be the perfect wife, perfect cook and obviously perfect housekeeper. One of the happiest days of my life was when, while seated in her living room on a rather low chair, I happened to look up under a tall lamp shade and noticed that it was just full of cob webs! I always felt so much more comfortable when she dropped in at my house after that. How silly! I’d bought into the propaganda.
Some time after that, we moved to Knoxville and it was wonderful. The first Saturday we were there, we went to a big store kind of like Walmart. We bought jeans for everyone, me included. This was before women wore pants very often, still into skirts. We also got everyone fitted in boots. Mine were Wellingtons and I loved those boots. It was really cold and snowy that winter and we had a wonderful fireplace and a load of wood. I can still smell that wood fire and it really put out lots of heat too.
The point here, to me, is that we were far away from the small place that was Tony’s hometown. Knoxville was very different from Augusta. In Knoxville, his customers, old women with their drivers, did not drop in on me in the afternoons. I rarely even met or knew his customers. No one insisted that I work on every charity event or volunteer for everything, as had happened in Augusta. It seemed to me that finally I could enjoy my family and our house became more like the home I’d wanted to have in the first place. We still had folks over for meals and parties but I could relax and enjoy my guests.
I’ve thought a good bit about homes in recent years. There can be all kinds with different families but a few characteristics seem to prevail where with one or two people or a large group.
Faith in God and the ability to pray has truly kept me and my family going. Whichever church one attends, or does not attend, is not nearly as important as a sure knowledge that the Lord is always with you. This is why I object to that e-mail that says something like, Jesus stopped by to say hello, today, but then left for Whoshotlizzieville. Folks, my Jesus is always with me, never leaves!
Love coupled with respect and genuine kindness is really what it is all about, isn’t it? None of us is perfect but most of us do try. My dad was a big man. He used to say that lots of jobs around the house were just easier for him than for a smaller person. Of course sometimes he kind of went overboard. When Teflon first came out, he scrubbed it all out of my aunt’s new frying pan she brought us something in. Another time he scrubbed all the remaining copper coating off an antique pitcher I’d bought for Mother. She just shook her head over her new tin pitcher.
This, then, is where we talk about laughter. How could one stand to live so closely with other people, without a sense of humor? I mean, let’s just be truthful here. Most naked people are just funny looking! Have a look in the mirror and tell me I’m wrong. I’m dead certain my parents wouldn’t have had such a long marriage nor would Tony and I, if we couldn’t laugh at most anything. One night around midnight, when my parents were visiting us, we heard a loud crash in the guest bathroom. We jumped out of bed, terrified at what we were going to find. When I threw open the door, my 6ft 4in dad, clad in his red striped pj’s, was climbing out of the bath tub. He said he’d tried to close the door before turning on the light, and when he reached for the light switch with his right hand, his entire body just kept going until he fell into the tub. Even with his arthritis, he was not hurt and we all returned to bed. Then we heard him and Mother, the rascals. He would retell the story and they would just hoot. I went to sleep that night listening to them giggle, on the other side of the wall.
Have you ever noticed that everything is so much funnier when you are in a place where you are not supposed to laugh? In our family we’ve done that any number of times. My husband was not bad about it but my brothers were awful. Weddings are bad enough. Once at a family wedding in another state, my sister in law, then I, then Dee, were wedged between Tony on one side and his brother on the other end. Unfortunately, we were just seated about three rows back from the front. The organist turned the wicked organ on and off constantly during the ceremony. Each time, it made a great big noise like one would imagine an elephant passing gas. I was good the first few times but repressing the giggles caused tears to stream down my face. Then I felt SIL shake on my left, then Dee on my right, and I just lost it. Every time I got myself under control, SPLAT—it would happen again. That seemed to be the longest wedding I ever sat through.
Another time, just before the funeral of my aunt, a distant cousin asked where Dee was working. I said she was Paralegal at an Atlanta law firm. “Oh,” said my cousin brightly, “I have a friend whose son is a Paraplegic.” I told her that was nice – and fled. During the rather long funeral, my brother Bob whispered to me and asked what our cousin had said to me. He said he’d noticed my face as I left the viewing room. When I told him, which was a big mistake, he barely caught himself from laughing out loud. That time I was able to keep tissues over my face to hide the giggles. Later, at the cemetery, my cousin Frank sidled over and asked what Bobby and I were so tickled about? When I told him, he DID laugh out loud. Fortunately, people were headed back to their cars by then.
When I think of houses that seemed homelike to me, over the years, I recall delicious smells. Anytime I walked into my mother’s home from late morning through the rest of the day, and smelled fresh coffee brewing, I knew she was expecting someone important. My husband used to sniff the air when he came home from work trying to decide what I was cooking for dinner. If it was time for him and I hadn’t started dinner, often I’d just boil a pot of water and drop spices or onion powder etc into it so the house would smell good to him. His Uncle Jake was in hog heaven when he came to visit and discovered I was cooking collards. At Thanksgiving, I love to smell turkey dressing baking. Holidays at home just smell too delicious to waste by eating in a restaurant.
All of these things make a home, to me, but you may have a totally different idea. However, when all is said and done, home is where you feel safe and where you belong.
This is the family room in my present home.
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