The new place isn't terribly far from where I'm currently living. Right now, I suppose I live on the eastern end of Wallingford, quite close (but, thankfully, not too close) to the University District. By sometime next week, I hope to be on the other end of Wallingford - in what I've started to call the Wallingford-Fremont Frontier.
Actually, when we first looked at this place, and liked it right off the bat, Zach gushed, "Oh, it would be so exciting to live in Fremont!"
Fremont?
"Zach, this is Wallingford. Granted, the other side of Wallingford, but we haven't even crossed Aurora [WA 99] yet."
The coined term "Wallingford-Fremont Frontier" was a compromise. They say that, in a relationship, one must compromise. Growing up, he had dogs as pets, and I had no pets. So, discussions of cats are a compromise. He says Fremont; I say Wallingford. Hence the Wallingford-Fremont Frontier, and all the bizarre stares that come along with it when we discuss it. He says Chinese food... I say pizza... and so we have pizza. [No compromise there.]
We're hoping to start the move this weekend. This should make things very interesting since Zach, through a former employer, volunteered us to pass out water at the Pride Parade this Sunday. But, aside from that, and some cursing at U-Haul due to their primeval system of reservations, we are calm - almost uncomfortably calm - about the impending move. I've casually packed all weekend, culminating in a dishwrapping conveyerbelt system that would bring tears of pride to ma's eyes, and Zach's only main concern has centered around how the two of us, Laurel-and-Hardy-style, are going to get his couch down the stairs of his apartment. If you're a fan of slapstick and want to watch, bring your own popcorn. Friday, I anticipated a 50% chance of freak-out on Zach's part, and a 95% chance of freak-out on my part, sometime this week.
Pretty much all weekend, Zach's favorite phrase has been, "I can't wait to move into our house!" My constant correction: "apartment." To me, a house is a physical structure with a front door, a yard, and so forth. Gate and fence optional. I'd like to own a house someday, and Everyone scolds me for not-having-one already, but I'm in no position to do that right now. Anyway, he says "house," and I correct with "apartment." Time for a compromise? Perhaps.
I make great distinctions between the terms "house" and "home." You've just read my physical description of "house." A "home" is more a feeling attached to a dwelling - the emotional label of "I belong here." Home isn't just where you hang your hat, it's where you hang your life - whether it be a house, condo, apartment, or what-have-you. I'm sure our new apartment will feel like a home, given time. But, pondering these points this weekend for presentation to Zach, I've realized my own feelings of home have changed since coming to Seattle and settling in my current house. I look around my bedroom disaster, with a big, sappy grin spread across my face, scanning the Pearson painting, the Ewan McGregor poster, the hand-me-down furniture, the dust, the books, and soak it all in: "This is home." But, transplant me to any other portion of the house, which I share with two housemates, and my attitude changes: "This isn't home! The furniture is uninviting, there are aphids on the houseplants, dishes have been piled in the sink all week, moths have invaded the cupboard, the front door's been left open all day again, only half the lawn's been mowed, and someone let f***ing rats in the house!!" Obviously, "home" also requires a certain closeness to the folks I share it with, too. Since my current house has only one locale, my room, where I don't have to share it with my housemates, and where I'm free to spend time alone with Zach, it's the only place - a rather small place - I've been free to call "home" these past two years. Looking back, that's rather sad. My recent frustrations at the house, culminating in the above rodent infestation (someday I'll share the drama), have made one thing evident: my soul's in need of a more-inclusive Home. Not just a small room in a large house. And my soul aparently knows that, soon, it will get its wish. It noticed that my mind labelled today as Probably-the-Last-Monday-I-Will-Take-the-66-Express-to-Work. It has foreseen that, tomorrow, my mind will proclaim a similar label for Tuesday, and so forth. It knows that, tonight, I'll finally remove the final decorative items from my walls, and that they'll soon go up in a new Home. It knows change is looming, and it wishes to get away.
I only hope my own plants remain aphid-free long enough for me to evacuate them to their new home.
Posted by James at June 20, 2005 09:09 AM