A Tribute to My House
Daryl woke up in the middle of the night crying. He’s been teething the last couple of days and has been extra needy. While normally I would let him cry it out and he would eventually go back to sleep, tonight I decided to go check in on him. I picked him up, fed him and put him back down in the crib. On my way back to my room, I heard the faint sound of birds chirping outside. What a beautiful sound…a sound that I don’t think I’ve ever heard from this house.
Our home is situated just north of a busy highway. I wake up every morning to the swishing sound of the cars racing by, one of my biggest complaints about our home. But these last few mornings, I laid in bed listening to the same swishing sound and wondering “am I going to miss this sound one day?”
Whenever I’m about to lose something, I suddenly start to see its beauty. Every time I decide to go in for a haircut, my hair suddenly looks amazing and strangely perfect. Am I the only one who experiences this see-it-when-you-lose-it syndrome?
The swishing sound of the highway that used to bother me suddenly becomes a familiar white noise that comforts me. I wonder how my son is going to learn to climb stairs after we move, stairs that I so dreaded when we first moved into this townhouse. The markings on the walls that were a daily eyesore is suddenly a snapshot of a fond memory that I wish I could box and keep. The matchbox sized closets feel like a luxury knowing that we will soon be inheriting only one quarter of a closet space in my parent’s guest bedroom (a temporary home before we start our road trip out west).
What most people don’t know is that we run Pulp Function out of our home. We live in a three storey townhouse and we changed up the entire ground floor to become our workshop. The garage is for storage of all our rental marquees and pre-production pieces. The front room is our spray booth. The washroom floor is our sanding station and the shower stall is where our boxes and packing materials are stored. This was a place I used to hate visiting because it felt very disorganized, tight and dusty. But now, as I scramble to find a workshop out west that can do what we do in-house here, I begin to see that our little set-up was pretty neat and convenient.
I should also mention the party room where I’ve conducted so many photo shoots for my clients. “Oh, the windows are so huge they let in too much light and make the room so hot!” has now become “where am I going to find a room flooded with so much natural light that is perfect for photos?” Funny, eh?
For the last several months, the word ‘sacrifice’ would regularly come up during my conversation with my mom about our move. “Sacrifice? What sacrifice?” I would respond back. We put in so much time and effort to grow a home that we now love and enjoy, and to see it being “taken down” little by little was a sacrifice in her mind. To me, I’ve always seen our move in a completely different light. Our move was part of my family’s journey to continuously expand, connect, experience and grow. I never once saw it as a sacrifice.
But now, as I see all our items being either packed away into a box or sold for $5 (if I’m lucky) on Marketplace, I am starting to see what she means. Despite my continued belief that I don’t give meaning to materialistic possessions, there is still a sentimental aspect to certain items that will always have a place in my heart. And that includes all the flaws and all the beauty in this concrete block that we’ve called home for 6 years.