The question was making it’s way around Facebook not long ago — “how many different homes have you lived in?” I ran out of patience to answer that question, but today I decided to attempt an answer.
There was the first house where we lived until I was 6 years old. I remember the backyard with birch trees and a sandbox, and a picnic table where we would eat dinner in warmer weather. Beyond the backyard was a field, and beyond that the elementary school where my older brother attended for one year. My older brother and I shared a bedroom, and the twins shared the other. I’m not sure how long that lasted, but I do remember having my brother sleep in the upper bunk.
Next we moved to a small cabin in a village near the town where my dad travelled to work. There was a small creek running by the cabin. My brothers found and captured a small lizard with the intention of scaring my mother. It worked! The cabin had rats in the crawl space beneath it and in the attic. If the toilet flushed while the bathtub was drain we would have a flood somewhere. The place smelled like a sewer overflow, and I suffered with stomach problems for the 2 months that we lived there. My older brother and I attended a small, two-room elementary school. Grades 1 to 3 were in one classroom, and the “mature” students were in the other classroom taught by the husband of my teacher.
The next two years were spent in town, in a spacious house with three bedrooms, and nice backyard, and beautiful mirror in the front entrance, giving the impression of an even larger space. Our school was located on the road that extended from our front yard. We would walk to school and home again. It was a safe neighbourhood, and we had a lot of freedom to wander unsupervised. One morning the bus driver stopped to pick us up half-way down the road, and let my little brother sit on his lap and drive the bus the rest of the way to school. In these days, that driver would lose his job if people found out that he let a 6 year old drive his bus! During those two years I was happy; I had several friends, and I loved my kind teachers.
We moved again during summer between grades 2 and 3. The new town was not as willing to embrace a new family, or at least that is how I felt. It was many years before I was comfortable enough to seek friends and talk to others in my class. I do recall having a fairly close network of friends in grade 9. I had to be careful because even then some of them thought nothing of betraying trust. The house we lived in during those years was comfortable. I shared a bedroom in the basement with my sister. We had an imaginary line drawn down the middle — okay, sometimes it was not imaginary, but made clear with a skipping rope, then a long double-desk. We were not to mess with anything in each other’s side of the room. My floor was clear of clutter; her floor was hard to see until each evening when my mom would help her put her clothes away in the closet.
I remember the huge cupboards along the wall on my half of the bedroom. Sometimes I would need to hide, and would crawl into the lower shelf and sleep for the night. It was kind of like a sanctuary, and a place I could escape from the world for short periods of time. The window above our desks (until those were moved and replaced by our dressers) was high, but at ground level outside. It was from those windows where I would escape and run away. Each time I ran away I was too afraid of the trouble I would be in if I got caught, so I wasn’t gone long enough to get noticed. Once I remember taking my wallet with a few dollars, but I was far too afraid to go into a store in case I was recognized. As I grew up, my escapades happened late at night after my parents were asleep. For years I couldn’t sleep easily, and instead of lying in bed churning I would go for a walk. I wonder if anyone ever told my parents. It was a small town, and a lot of people would have recognized the principal’s daughter, but I never got in trouble.
My final year in that house was fantastic! I had graduated from high school, and working toward a diploma while teaching private lessons and substituting at local schools. My parents had moved, and I was in charge of taking care of the house. The freedom was so welcome, even with the responsibility of cleaning and yard work. I felt like an adult.
Before that final year, I lived in Australia as an exchange student. During those 11 months I was welcomed into 4 different homes. Each home had a different culture and way of life. The first was the home of the school head master, with 3 other children. We spent hours in the school library doing homework after school. I stayed in my bedroom while at the house, since mixing with the family was difficult and awkward, although the mother was very kind to me. My second home in Australia was on a property of over 3000 acres. There was so much room to wander, although I didn’t go very far. The couple who lived there and directed the work at the property were very special people and I really felt at home there. In fact, the people who placed me in each home insisted that I return there for the final couple of months, as the 5th home was not suitable. (I heard the father was angry that his daughter was not chosen as an exchange student, and therefore he would not treat me kindly).
This particular couple, at the 2nd home, had routines that reflected their love and care for each other. In the morning Mr. B would bring Mrs. B a cup of tea and biscuit, then go out to feed the cows and do some work that needed urgent attention. When he came in Mrs. B had already prepared breakfast of cereal, followed by steak and eggs, or something else equally delicious and fortifying. Afternoon tea was a special time. Mrs. B waited until I returned home from school, and sometimes we were joined by Mr. B. It was a time to discuss what happened during the day, talk about Australia, talk about old days, share news of the community and events that would be happening. They insisted that I learn to dance so that I could enjoy the community balls. In the evenings after a light dinner, we would often sit on their screened-in veranda watching TV and sharing a chocolate bar. I loved that home!
The third home in Australia was with a couple who owned and worked at the local pharmacy/chemist’s. They were a modern couple, and their children attended boarding school in a larger town. I was warned the first day that when I needed to use the washroom that I must lock the door. This family used the washroom together, and it was the place where they talked about everything important, much like the previous family used tea time for those discussions. During the stay at this home I spent much of my time practicing the piano at someone else’s house. I remember the lady there, who loved to hear the piano, would make tea for me each day when I finished practicing. And each time she would have a competition between the electric kettle, and the stove-top kettle (on a wood-burning stove) to see which came to a boil sooner. I honestly don’t recall which was faster, but it was fun to see someone so excited about that!
My fourth home in Australia was with an older couple, but I can’t remember where the husband worked, or anything about them. Another exchange student was staying with them at the same time. He was from Texas, and was with a different organization. We tolerated each other, and were polite, but not best friends. This home was only a few blocks away from the school. It was a comfortable couple of months with a few occurrences that stand out in my memory. One was the unique way our host mom would serve French toast. She would fry up the French toast (which was delicious) and just place it on the table, on the plastic table cover, without a plate. We would eat it from a plate of course, with ketchup.
Following my final year as mentioned earlier in the family home all by myself, I went off to college, and stayed in residence for two years. Halfway through my first year in college an illness required me to be sent home to my parent’s new home for about 4-5 months of bedrest. This place was nice, but I felt like a guest staying temporarily, so it really didn’t feel like my home at all. Once I was healthy again I returned for my second year at college.
My next home was in a small two bedroom apartment in downtown Bangkok. Our kitchen was out on the balcony where we had a small propane stove and a sink. Our furniture consisted of a bed in each bedroom (we always had friends and/or nephews staying with us) and a large, low table/bed/not sure. It was a queen-sized daybed which we used for many things, including eating, folding laundry, guest bed and storage. We stayed at this apartment while the church was being built. Our next home was in the back portion of the church building. It was larger than the apartment and was a community gathering place, especially on Sundays. Privacy was apparently not something I should have expected! The floor was concrete in most of the rooms, and ceramic tile in the bathroom. This home, obviously, did not feel like my home since the door was always open for church members to stop by anytime for meals or conversation, or just to check out what white women did…..
Shortly after the birth of our third child we moved to a duplex in a housing development outside of Bangkok, although still very much a part of a large city. I stayed there until returning to Canada. During our time in that home we had many relatives and nannies also sharing the living space. Again, privacy was not a thing!
My children and I moved back to Canada and after 6 weeks living with my parents, we moved into a mobile home where we stayed for about 9 months. From there we moved to a home in a smallish community where we endured several years of abuse and torment before finding a 100 year old cottage to rent. That place, although it was not a permanent home, felt like a home I had longed for for years. Walking in through the doors was like walking into a warm and loving embrace. There was safety and freedom there, and it was in that home that I experienced so much love and care from the community around us. Strangers would do things for us — a friend of a friend stopped by one day to fix my front door so that it would close properly. He wouldn’t accept money, but gave us tickets to a concert. Another day a friend’s son came by unexpectedly to mow the lawn and till the garden. Others dropped off gifts, and checked in regularly to make sure we were okay. The young lady who rented the basement became close friends with me and my two daughters who were still in high school.
That is a lot of homes! Not including a short-term rental, there were three homes in the next city we lived in. And now, where I am living now, I finally feel like I am home. As a child I would dream of living in a cabin in the woods, with forests around me, and no one to bother me. This is the closest I will most likely come to that dream. I look out my windows and see trees, shrubs, ferns and some flowers. Several times a week I watch the deer walking through my backyard to find shade and solace in the neighbour’s yard, beside their chicken pen. I see raccoons and squirrels daily, yet I am very close to the city centre. My perfect spot is not without problems, but who doesn’t have issues with the odd neighbour?
I am home now.
Reflections 