Posted by: Dennie | October 27, 2013

Finding Home

A few years after my divorce, when the dust finally started to settle, and I began to settle into my  new life, I started to feel a detachment of sorts. Like a helium balloon, tethered on a long ribbon, but drifting and bouncing gently from the ceiling.

I had no doubts I made the right choice leaving my first marriage. My new relationship, now a marriage of eleven years, offered challenges, but also a fulfillment that I’d never before experienced. It wasn’t the marriage that was leaving me disconnected.

It was my home. Or rather, my place of residence.

I felt rootless. And still do.

All my life, with the exception of a few short years as a youthful apartment dweller, I’d lived in a house. A single family, separate home with a yard and privacy.

My “new” husband was a city boy, living most of his life in apartment buildings filled with people, noise and, I’m guessing, not much privacy. I can only imagine it. People in the halls. People in the stairwells. On the sidewalks….everywhere.

Ugh.

I used to be a people person. I used to love having the company of others around me. But those were the days when I could barely tolerate my own solitary company. Those were the days when I was lonely, even in the presence of others. When my comfort was the bottle.

After I stopped drinking, I was forced to acknowledge everything that booze had softened and filtered in my life, my marriage, me.

I had to get to know myself. And it took a long time. A very long time.

Today, I know myself pretty well and  I really like me. I can say I love who I am today. I remember once, eons ago, my younger sister was really small, we both were, and she was running around the house singing, “I love myself, I love myself…..”

Doing a happy little dance, smiling, joyful.

My mother scolded her to stop. “It’s not nice to say that.”

I never heard her say it again. As for me, I  had never spoken those words, and I sure wasn’t about to start.

But Mom, I LOVE MYSELF TODAY. And I’m not ashamed to say it.

Which brings me back to where I began this chronicle.

I’ve become quite happy to be by myself, with myself and with my husband, of course, but I don’t seek the company of others to fill the emptiness that once consumed me. It’s gone.

I like my privacy.  I like to choose if, when and with whom I  associate.

I don’t think I’ve turned into a snob, or a recluse. It’s just that the time I have is precious, and I want to spend and share it the way I’d like.

Today my husband and I  live in a condo,  They all pretty much mind their own business, but we’re surrounded. We share walls.

I don’t like  it.

I don’t like sitting outside on the patio, having others listen to our conversations. I don’t like to  make small talk if I meet someone outside. I don’t like not having my own yard in which to putter and not being able to have a dog.

I want a house. I’ve wanted a house for a really long time.

And I think my city boy husband is leaning in the same direction.

People think we’re nuts, at our age, to wish for a dwelling that will undoubtedly require much more work than we have to do now. Shoveling in the winter. Cutting the grass in the summer. Dealing with leaky roofs, painting, blah, blah, blah.

But still.

It would be ours alone. No sharing walls. No hearing clomping up and down stairs.  Vacuums running. No small talk.

Maybe it will never happen. We’ve been close on a couple of occasions, but never quite made it. I believe that if and when it’s meant to be, it will be.

But I’d like to stop feeling like a balloon and set my roots.

So this afternoon, we’re going to look. At a place that seems to meet the (fantasy?) requirements of my imagination. Not too big. Old enough to be charming but not decrepit. Situated on what appears to be a manageable little piece of property.

From what I’ve seen in pictures, I love it.

Here it is.

5 RABBIT LANE, BROOKFIELD, CT 06804

Report to follow…

 

**************************************************************************************

Report:

Sunday evening, 9:45 pm….

The search will continue.

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Responses

  1. I put my comment on the wrong page. It was meant to be on this one.
    I understand~


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