thedeadlyhook (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thedeadlyhook) wrote2005-12-30 12:12 pm
thedeadlyhook) wrote2005-12-30 12:12 pm
Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety-Jig
I'm baaaaaack.
That is to say, Toys and I are back from the rounds of visiting relatives. First my parents, back in Michigan, then his, just a smidge farther south of SF here in California. Shy of two weeks on the road, but can I say how happy I am to be home again? Our very own bed, even if it's not actually as comfortable. Eat, sleep, drink water, go buy coffee whenever we want. Go out for a walk. Surf the web... damn. It's nice to be home.
Temper that of course against the jerkoff with the hair-trigger car-alarm just outside our window today - haven't managed to miss hearing that sound in our journeys, but whatever. And it's raining here too, but did I mention Michigan? Snow. Below freezing. And yeah, I grew up there, can handle the cold fine, still, can tell burly stories about how I walked two miles to get to school and back and my hair froze right to my head (true!), but for playful winter cavorting, it wasn't the best weather. I took pictures of Toys in a snowdrift up to his thighs on the last day - that was about it. Otherwise, we huddled indoors.
Now, my folks - dad and stepmom - are sweet people, but you will never in a million years hear me call their house, which is the home I grew up in, "comfortable." It's one of those cramped ranch homes that was designed post-WWII for growing families - meaning more rooms is better, even if they're mostly all too small for whatever they were meant to be used for. In our case, when I was growing up, that meant three extremely tiny bedrooms, my brother's being so small that it was actually more of a walk-through in the hallway than an actual room. Only the largest bedroom still exists in the house, as a guest bedroom (it's still pretty damn small). The rest have been knocked through and remodeled into a sort of weird open floor plan, which means the new "master" bedroom, my parents' room, opens onto the "TV room" via a pair of French doors that are eternally blocked-open with decorative knicknacks such as a wellbarrow full of dried flowers, or an unused rocking chair piled with stuffed animals. So simple things like late-night TV viewing can't help but be kind of inhibitied - it's hard to really enjoy something when your hosts are sleeping only a few feet away behind open doors, no matter how much they insist the lights and sounds don't bother them. Never mind the strange furniture choices which, thanks to the whack floor plan, don't include a couch, just individual Lay-Zee-Boy-style armchairs for everyone. Staying at their place always makes me feel like I'm in the way somehow, even as they fuss and insist and shove extra food in your face. It's a weird reminder, always, of how out-of-place I felt growing up there too.
Revisiting Michigan is always... odd. Invariably I feel thin when I'm there, but not for long - yes, I gained weight over the holidays, somewhere between five to seven pounds - and it stuns me to realize, over and over, just how much of the average day for my folks revolves around eating. Shopping for food, preparing food, eating food, washing up after food... and of those, eating is actually the least important part. That same effect kind of explains time spent in Michigan in general - it rarely seemed to be about the actual moment you were inhabiting, but more about the one before or after it. While you're eating, you're being encouraged to take seconds, even before you're done. When you're sitting, you're being quizzed on what you plan to do next. The whole trip had a rushed and frantic quality, even with all the sitting around. (I was sad not to have had time to manage more than one quick phonecall to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
asta77, who otherwise was right there in the same neck of the woods - how nice it would have been to have actually met up and had some time to relax and talk!)
But... yeah. Changes. My hometown has a Wal-Mart now. The downtown coffee shop and massive antique emporium that were staples of our visits are both gone. Change change change. I can't help but talk like an old-timer, whenever I'm there - "this is where such-and-such used to be." It's really not the home I remember anymore, and I suppose that's a good thing. In a way.
I'm working my way backwards through my flist, but slowly - damn, but you all have been busy! Overdue comments to come forthwith, and more as the day goes by.
So good to be back.
That is to say, Toys and I are back from the rounds of visiting relatives. First my parents, back in Michigan, then his, just a smidge farther south of SF here in California. Shy of two weeks on the road, but can I say how happy I am to be home again? Our very own bed, even if it's not actually as comfortable. Eat, sleep, drink water, go buy coffee whenever we want. Go out for a walk. Surf the web... damn. It's nice to be home.
Temper that of course against the jerkoff with the hair-trigger car-alarm just outside our window today - haven't managed to miss hearing that sound in our journeys, but whatever. And it's raining here too, but did I mention Michigan? Snow. Below freezing. And yeah, I grew up there, can handle the cold fine, still, can tell burly stories about how I walked two miles to get to school and back and my hair froze right to my head (true!), but for playful winter cavorting, it wasn't the best weather. I took pictures of Toys in a snowdrift up to his thighs on the last day - that was about it. Otherwise, we huddled indoors.
Now, my folks - dad and stepmom - are sweet people, but you will never in a million years hear me call their house, which is the home I grew up in, "comfortable." It's one of those cramped ranch homes that was designed post-WWII for growing families - meaning more rooms is better, even if they're mostly all too small for whatever they were meant to be used for. In our case, when I was growing up, that meant three extremely tiny bedrooms, my brother's being so small that it was actually more of a walk-through in the hallway than an actual room. Only the largest bedroom still exists in the house, as a guest bedroom (it's still pretty damn small). The rest have been knocked through and remodeled into a sort of weird open floor plan, which means the new "master" bedroom, my parents' room, opens onto the "TV room" via a pair of French doors that are eternally blocked-open with decorative knicknacks such as a wellbarrow full of dried flowers, or an unused rocking chair piled with stuffed animals. So simple things like late-night TV viewing can't help but be kind of inhibitied - it's hard to really enjoy something when your hosts are sleeping only a few feet away behind open doors, no matter how much they insist the lights and sounds don't bother them. Never mind the strange furniture choices which, thanks to the whack floor plan, don't include a couch, just individual Lay-Zee-Boy-style armchairs for everyone. Staying at their place always makes me feel like I'm in the way somehow, even as they fuss and insist and shove extra food in your face. It's a weird reminder, always, of how out-of-place I felt growing up there too.
Revisiting Michigan is always... odd. Invariably I feel thin when I'm there, but not for long - yes, I gained weight over the holidays, somewhere between five to seven pounds - and it stuns me to realize, over and over, just how much of the average day for my folks revolves around eating. Shopping for food, preparing food, eating food, washing up after food... and of those, eating is actually the least important part. That same effect kind of explains time spent in Michigan in general - it rarely seemed to be about the actual moment you were inhabiting, but more about the one before or after it. While you're eating, you're being encouraged to take seconds, even before you're done. When you're sitting, you're being quizzed on what you plan to do next. The whole trip had a rushed and frantic quality, even with all the sitting around. (I was sad not to have had time to manage more than one quick phonecall to
asta77, who otherwise was right there in the same neck of the woods - how nice it would have been to have actually met up and had some time to relax and talk!)But... yeah. Changes. My hometown has a Wal-Mart now. The downtown coffee shop and massive antique emporium that were staples of our visits are both gone. Change change change. I can't help but talk like an old-timer, whenever I'm there - "this is where such-and-such used to be." It's really not the home I remember anymore, and I suppose that's a good thing. In a way.
I'm working my way backwards through my flist, but slowly - damn, but you all have been busy! Overdue comments to come forthwith, and more as the day goes by.
So good to be back.
no subject
no subject
Is it really that hot there the year round? I don't know where I got the idea, but I'd always thought your weather would be more temperate, like Japan. But I know what you mean about fashions - sometimes here in San Francisco, I find myself wishing for colder weather, just so I could wear more winter coats.
no subject
Singapore is almost on top of the equatorial line with Vietnam, Thailand and Indonesia for neighbours. See the sweat pouring down the guys in Apocalypse Now? That's pretty much how it is. 95% humidity year round so it feels stifling for people who aren't used to it. In turn, I transform into a peeling onion with a bloody nose when I go abroad. Fun. :P