Home.

As I start to settle into that feeling of being in-between-homes, I cannot help but spend a bit of time reflecting on what home actually means. This particular train of thought all began when I was recently house sitting for my parents. And as those of you who follow me on Facebook and Twitter will know, it was quite the drama. A drama that resulted in quite high levels of cranky-pantedness. 

Still, despite getting woken up early by painters every morning, not being able to access the laundry where my clothes were, wearing my 15 year old brothers clothes back to my own house to find something to wear for work and then accidentally locking myself out of the house at 10pm and having to shimmy along the side of the house in a short skirt and then finding a giant dump in the toilet courtesy of one of the aforementioned painters - I somehow managed to indulge in some pleasant nostalgia. 

The nostalgia hit me when I least expected it, when I was baking some goodies for a work morning tea in my parents kitchen. When I used the old set of scales that required a creative combination of weight measures to balance my butter against. BAM! When I dug out the old and battered aluminum cake tins, which had once housed the core components of many creations from theAustralian Women's Weekly Children's Birthday Cake Cookbook. BAM! When I measured ingredients in the 80s brown cup measures and used porcelain mixing bowls to prepare the icing. BAM! It was all exceedingly wonderful and filled me with that extraordinary tingle - that feeling of being home.

And then I began to realise just how many elements of my mother's kitchen had now become a part of my own. We had the same can opener and vegetable peeler - and an eerily similar collection of mixing spoons and nested mixing bowls. In both our kitchens the third drawer from the top is the province of cling wrap, baking paper, brown paper bags and freezer bags. I hardly ever use brown paper bags or freezer bags! But by golly, I keep them in that third drawer from the top. 

And then I began to notice some of the 'innovations' I had introduced into my mother's kitchen. Namely, the detergent dispensing dishwand and the silicon bakeware. And I also noticed the subtleties that indicated my parents are significantly more affluent than I am. They have real vanilla essence, not imitation.

I guess there are many things about the homes we grow up in that make their way into our own lives and homes. And it's not just our little behaviour quirks (like using different coloured chopping mats for different kinds of foods) - somehow the spaces are physically connected. My mother's kitchen was no doubt inspired by her own mother and the Christmas cake mixing bowl that once belonged to my grandmothers kitchen,now living in my mother's kitchen will now doubt make its way to mine someday.

How strange is that, to think of your kitchen as a physical link to your maternal line!?

I wonder if men feel the same way about traditionally 'male' spaces?

I guess it's all just a reminder that that essence of 'home-ness' is really just something that follows us around. Hidden in the guise of our habits and the way like to organise things and create a safe space around us.

A comforting thought for those of us who are about to move their life from one place to another, even if it's not moving very far.

Comments

[nicky]

I very much love this reflection Anne-ski! So true!
I get a bit sentimental when I use mum's old mixmaster and I have the same measuring cups (Tupperware of course!). In fact- i dare say it is mum's fault (or should i say "credit goes to her") for my Tupperware obsession.

[Seattle Hot Tubs]

Thanks for the resources. Somehow it do really help me.