This Little Home

"While we are living in our native land, we fancy that these streets are indifferent to us, that these windows, these roofs, and these doors are nothing to us, that these walls are strangers to us, that these trees are no more than other trees, that these houses which we never enter are useless to us, that this pavement on which we walk is nothing but stone. In after times, when we are there no longer, we find that those streets are very dear, that we miss those  roofs, those windows, and those doors, that those walls are necessary to us, that those trees are our well-beloved, that those houses which we never entered we entered every day, and that we have left something of our affections, our life, and our heart in those streets." 

-Victor Hugo

As I sit here typing, I look out the window at my tiny backyard and at my cluttered kitchen counters holding the many items that I lack the cupboard or pantry space for. I think of my tiny garage that almost, but not quite fits both cars comfortably and of my unfinished laundry room downstairs that I wish was a nice finished upstairs laundry/mud room perched conveniently off my garage. Yes, there have been many times that I have considered selling this home and upgrading into a little nicer home. A multitude of reasons have kept me from acting on such a desire. One such reason is that I remember how wonderful it was having all of the warmness and security that comes from growing up in one house. I want my children to have those same consistent memories and that same sense of security.

The home that harbors all of my sweet childhood memories was the home that I spent 12 years of my childhood in. We moved into a red-brick bungalow in Salt Lake City in December of 1979. I was 5 years old. We lived in that home until December of 1991. The home was really no more than a square box, covered in red bricks, and topped with a pitched roof. Built somewhere in the 1940's, the home probably contained a total of about 1400 square feet of living space, but it contained all of the space necessary to fill my years as a child with warm wonderful memories.

Within the walls of that tiny home, I grew from a child to a young woman. I climbed trees and had backyard adventures with my dear siblings behind that house. I can still hear the laughter and battle cries of children deep in imaginary play, a play that bound us together and left us inseparable even through the challenges of adolescence and adulthood. The quarters where close on that little corner in Salt Lake, but we didn't seem to mind. I shared a bedroom with nearly every sibling at one point or another in that home. All sorts of shenanigans transpired behind the backs of our busy parents. We were a little band of mischief-makers causing our innocent trouble in the security of a small but clean and safe home. We knew every square inch of that house. There were portions that we thought were surely haunted, areas that we stayed away from at any expense. Old bungalows, built in another time, carry such quirks and eccentricities as to let a child's imagination roam freely. We spent many an afternoon searching for that secret passage we knew existed somewhere.

Ours was a simple existence in that little house. We could not rely on large televisions, video games, swing sets, or recreational rooms for our entertainment. But we had a closet full of board games, a backyard that was a playground for our imaginations, a basement that lent itself to all sorts of amusements, and good conversation to be had in every corner of the home. What came from the confines of that humble home were six children bound to one another with an unbreakable friendship, six children who prefer witty conversation and some good food over any other entertainment, six children who hold warm family traditions as one of the great necessities of life. I experienced illness and energy, sorrows and triumphs, drudgery and happy family traditions all in that home. I learned my work ethic doing the types of chores that many people of my generation never experienced thanks to newer more updated homes. I was nurtured, taught, and raised in that home. In that home, I developed my personality, my sense of humor, my character, and my testimony. Much of who I am today began in that little house in Salt Lake all those years ago. It was a blessed place.

And so, I will stay here in my little house. I will stay in this home with all of its inconveniences and quirks. I will stay here so that my children can laugh about their many adventures in this little house, so that they can reminisce together about all of their shenanigans behind my back, so that my children can grow up with a sense of constancy and security, so that they can wake up looking at the same wall each morning, and walk up the same steps each day after school, so that one day, when they have left this house, and life gets difficult, they can remember a simpler time in a simple house where they were loved and where they became who they are. And hopefully the inner strength that was nurtured within the walls of that childhood home will find its way to the surface, and they will carry on, knowing that they have a God and family who loves them very much.