Home
We are in the process of moving; leaving the city after more than a decade and returning to the house I grew up in, which means we are about to become one of those crazy artists couples that live in the woods making their crazy art and getting crazier in their solitude. Except we’ll still go on tour, which is good, because it means we will still experience civilization for a few months of the year, although it might also mean we’ll end up as one of those crazy couples that drives around the country selling their crazy art, picking up stray animals, making really out-of-the-way side trips between shows to see the country’s largest rubber band ball or The Salton Sea or some other oddity, and digging in desert canyons to find animal bones in which to make more crazy art.
My husband Steven is happy to be moving; certainly for the space and the art-related possibilities living in the woods affords, but mostly because the house and property are ideal in the event of a zombie apocalypse. It’s a very old and sturdy house that sits high on a hill, surrounded by densely wooded cliffs, making it difficult to access, but easy to defend. It also has its own well, and could easily go off the grid, so Steven says. He’s probably right… after all, the house was built before there was any real grid to speak of. The land is rocky, but fertile enough to garden, and there is a fresh water source at the base of the hill.
Also, it has a hot tub. A modern one, too, not just a metal trough that you fill with water and let heat up in the sun like mom had when she was a young girl. And not like my “swimming pool” either, which was just me in the bathtub, in my bathing suit, sitting in about three inches of cold water after 45 minutes of whining. I probably could have used more than three inches of water, but I didn’t want to be the reason the well went dry. And according to my Gran, that is exactly what I’d have been.
So, yes…hot tub, seclusion, safe from zombies…I’m happy to be going home, too. The house is part of our family, but its more than that. In an ironic way, it is an exercise in non-attachment. Now, I know I just personified the house, like, two seconds ago, but that’s just the sentimentalist in me; the girl that used to name the rocks in the driveway and the multitude of squirrels in the yard. But it’s that very sentiment that has brought me to this place of resolution. See, I love my house. And I love my family. And I love every single happy and ambivalent moment I spent there. I love that my grandfather designed it and built it. I love my memories of holidays celebrated there, all the years I had with my Gran, all of the things I made there with my mom, the animals we had, the way the woods looks when it snows, the red-tailed hawks that nest there, the foxes, and the colts that play in the neighbor’s field every spring. I remember all of the drawings I did by the fireplace while Gran and I watched The Young and the Restless. I remember the games I made up and my playhouse, and the black snake that lived in the shed for years. I remember mom and I taking care of our goat, and picking blackberries. I remember so many wonderful, wonderful things.
But I also remember the terrible things. The fear I felt, the anxiety, the shame…consequences of deeds done when I was too little, or later, too helpless to stop it. The house was the witness and there were times I hated her for betraying me. Why did she let those people in? Why did she ever let them stay so long? I’d thought we’d had an understanding. I loved her, and she’d protect me, shelter me, as any good house should. But in they came, slipping in through the cracks the way the mice and salamanders do. And it seemed she could not stop it.
But it’s a house, you may be saying. Isn’t this blame just a tad misplaced?
Of course. But when you are young, you blame the constant, because the constant won’t leave you. I had some constants, and regrettably, I blamed them all. The house was no exception.
I have since made peace with my constants, recognizing now that even the things that would never choose to leave you, will, in fact, one day have to leave you. Knowing this, it seems silly to waste even one moment ever being bitter.
So, I have forgiven the house. And I am pardoned for ever being so angry at her. I can not erase what we saw and felt there, and I no longer need to try. I will simply do what one does in a house. I will make things, and write music, and read, and sleep. When we want to go south, we will take what we need and go for a while, then we will come back to her. When we want to go to the desert, we will leave what is not essential and we will go for a while, then we will come back to her again. We understand each other now, and I am ready to live there once again.
Plus, you know…the zombie thing.
“But when you are young, you blame the constant, because the constant won’t leave you.”
That, and the paragraph that follows, is quite possibly the most profound thing I have read in months.
I have to say, in reading this I was quite shocked at a parallel with mine and Xtine’s own lives at the moment. You see, now that we’ve been together for almost five years, we decided to move in together. My house, a townhouse near the university, while amazing and full of good memories is just too close to all the people that lived around me. I felt crowded, almost suffocated at times. I never realizes that I wanted OUR space, to where I could get away and create and live and enjoy without interruption.
Xtine’s house was built in the 1830s, and is without question sturdy. When I do find something odd, I just walk out to the front yard to where the gravestones are of the man who built the house and much of his family. I ask about some of the design and hope that somehow, somewhere the answer to my question finds it’s way into my mind. But beyond that, the house is amazing. It has so much character and potential, I just feel at home here. It’s hard to explain, but you know when you are down and out sometimes, being at THE place with THE person you love so deeply, no matter what is wrong in the world, everything is right there.
Now sadly, I would say this is NOT the perfect zombie location, but then again, we now know where we need to go in case said epidemic occurs! Be sure to post directions to your blog before the internet goes silent!
And funny enough, part of the proceeds from my townhouse sale are going to buy a hot tub as I am in DIRE need of that kind of relaxation. I hope that you both find the same inspiration in such an awesome sounding place as I have been in this one!
Hello from Russia)
Way to go guys! If you are interested in gardening I have a tiller. I would be more than happy to give you a hand. Love it!
It took me a while to catch up with your blog. Too many damn things on the internet to read!
It seems I once again have to thank you, Donna, for making me cry…in the best possible way. I am happy that you got to say good bye to your Granny. It’s a chance I haven’t had with the ones I love that have gone on. In some strange way reading about how you dealt/are dealing with your loss is cathartic to me as well, especially now as I watch my Dad slowly succumb to dementia.
Someday I hope you will vist me on the Shore, and we can have tea and talk without the constraints of being at a club or performance. Or whiskey, if you’d rather, after all, my Daddy is an O’Neal, so I get it honest =D.
Looking forward to “Breedless”.
“But when you are young, you blame the constant, because the constant won’t leave you.”
That, and the paragraph that follows, is quite possibly the most profound thing I have read in months.
If you decide you’re looking for wingnut stuff (electricity generating windmills from 5-gallon buckets! rainwater collection! etc.!) then, you know… I’ve got some ideas. Or rather, ideas I steal from my friends.
This is a beautiful piece of writing.
Congratulations on the move. I am sure it will be an interesting experience with the old memories it engenders and the new memories you will create. And yes you and Steve must prepare for the zombie apocalypse!
I have to say, in reading this I was quite shocked at a parallel with mine and Xtine’s own lives at the moment. You see, now that we’ve been together for almost five years, we decided to move in together. My house, a townhouse near the university, while amazing and full of good memories is just too close to all the people that lived around me. I felt crowded, almost suffocated at times. I never realizes that I wanted OUR space, to where I could get away and create and live and enjoy without interruption.
Xtine’s house was built in the 1830s, and is without question sturdy. When I do find something odd, I just walk out to the front yard to where the gravestones are of the man who built the house and much of his family. I ask about some of the design and hope that somehow, somewhere the answer to my question finds it’s way into my mind. But beyond that, the house is amazing. It has so much character and potential, I just feel at home here. It’s hard to explain, but you know when you are down and out sometimes, being at THE place with THE person you love so deeply, no matter what is wrong in the world, everything is right there.
Now sadly, I would say this is NOT the perfect zombie location, but then again, we now know where we need to go in case said epidemic occurs! Be sure to post directions to your blog before the internet goes silent!
And funny enough, part of the proceeds from my townhouse sale are going to buy a hot tub as I am in DIRE need of that kind of relaxation. I hope that you both find the same inspiration in such an awesome sounding place as I have been in this one!
Be careful! Those zombies might actually be ninjas in disguise.
They’re sneaky, those ninjas.