twosday

where the heart is, where the limbs rest, etc

my parents care for their new house in a way i’ve never seen in the home where i grew up. they purchase furniture very carefully, scanning magazines for inspiration. the pops sweeps away cobwebs from the uppermost corners of the ceilings; the crevices of the bathroom and kitchen tiles are kept void of any dark smudges. the beds in the rooms are always made, covered in what feels like egyptian cotton. they’ve even given the new house a name – Shifting Breeze – after the street that it’s on.

staying here is like staying at a hotel, a model home, or with a distant relative.

there was one afternoon over the 10-day trip when i had space and time to myself, which is unusual since i live alone. i sprawled my books, computer cords, and legs across the coffee table in the upstairs loft, and took advantage of the surround sound stereo system. the house is perched on a hill, 15 miles from the strip, 15 miles from noise. from this perch, sitting with myself, i started to grasp what i think is the point of this new home: it’s like my parents are cultivating a new energy and identity.

if our nameless old house is an artifact of dad’s experiments in furniture-making, pock-marked by physical traces (the dishwasher that leans out when opened, the uneven sealing of former baseboard heat, taped-over cracks in windows) of the time my parents were getting by, then Shifting Breeze is a monument to a certain kind of perfection (making it, not just getting by), practiced and paved for over the course of 30 years. the gate around their new community like an antidote to 30 years of living two blocks from the freeway and a liquor store, on a busy arterial that i once ran into without looking as a 7-year-old and got spanked for it. the furniture sets reflect a more precise bourgeois aesthetic. see: the wine cellar/fridge gracing the corner of the dining room.

i’m with them on the new house because despite the pretense to perfection, i still see what makes it not so, or i see the work, effort, and error that goes into it. the inspiration for the new home comes from two-year-old magazines. dad props wood under the sofa bed to keep it from falling. and that wine cellar in the corner is apparently too cold, my french in-laws tell me, set by me at a frigid 55 degrees.