My Sanctuary…

One of my favorite movies has this great quote (memorized by one crazy fan). The movie is “What about Bob,” starring Bill Murray (as a guy with lots of mental health issues) and Richard Dreyfuss (as his frustrated therapist). Dr. Leo Marvin is asking Bob about his background.

Oh yeah, Neal’s still got it, 2016…

Leo: Are you married?

Bob: I’m divorced.

Leo: Would you like to talk about that?

Bob: There are 2 types of people in the world. Those who like Neil Diamond and those who don’t. My ex-wife loves him.

Leo: So you’re saying that even though you are an almost paralyzed, multi-phobic personality, who’s in a constant state of panic, your wife did not leave you. You left her because she loves Neil Diamond?

Our first home purchase, Sioux City, 1973…

I think these 2 types of people (lovers of everything Neil and the few odd freaks who don’t) have similar aspects in our libes. At least one.

In nearly 50 years of marriage we have bought 5 homes which account for about 38 years of wedded bliss. (Altogether I think the total is 16 moves to homes in varying degrees of niceness. About a dozen of those years, the broke, busted, agents can’t be trusted early ones were renting places because our stay wasn’t long or we didn’t have 2 nickels to rub together, let alone a hefty down payment). Except for a couple of questionable rentals, one house in Spencer, one in Worthington, most just became our home after we lived there a few months.

Spencer rental 1981, Josh, 6, Adam, 2. Home was made from cement blocks. Brrrrrr….

How come as a teen I detested being home with a passion but once I got married, ‘home’ (shitty rentals, humble first, or very nice lake home) became my sanctuary? I’ve never suffered from anxiety issues (at least it’s not a phrase I’ve ever coined when describing myself) but about as close as I come hits me with this uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach a couple days before we leave on vacation. I simply don’t want to leave. My house. Not a feeling of impending doom like we’re going to be in an accident, or meet with some disaster. More like heading out of my comfort zone where I don’t have as much control. I would rather stay home, protect my little crib, (ha, that’s kinda funny when I type it out. I’m about the least likely person to protect anything) cook my food, sleep in my own bed and use my bathroom with Little Nemo swimming happily through my tile wall.

Davenport stucco, neat home, it was huge, 1985…

There are 2 ways this feeling usually goes away. Once it’s a done deal and I actually leave. Most often my vacation ends up being a fantastic experience. Or if Hubs or someone else stays behind in the house while I’m gone. I don’t know why I abhor leaving my hovel unattended. But I feel loads better when someone stays behind to watch my little pad. I feel like I need to ‘mark my territory’ or wrap the house in bubble wrap. It’s not like we have much inside or out, but this strange feeling seems to follow me wherever I hang my hat.

Rambling ranch and best neighbors ever, Jackson the first time, 1989…

There are probably some of you who are furrowing your brow and thinking, what is wrong with this crazy old broad? It’s a dang house, easily replaceable, get over it. Nothing’s going to happen and if it does, deal with it. Although it’s not fear of something happening to the joint, but more how much better I feel when I’m in it. Are you thinking, Holy Hanna, anytime I can stay in a nice, clean, fancy hotel, eat out at great restaurants, go sight seeing and have no day to day monotonous responsibilities? I’m in. Their home may be exquisite but to a wanderlust it’s just a house. Somewhere to eat, sleep and shower when they need time to plan their next adventure. There are places they wanna go, things they gotta see. Can’t do that from a Lazy Boy. (But I like the Lazy Boy).

Yes, much like Big Bird, I too have a nest…

I want to see those places too. I’ve stated my whole life, I have no desire to cross the big pond, there’s too many exciting places in the US I’ve not visited. And no, I’ve not forgotten my trips to Europe-2 years in a row. Think of it, twice! (Thanks so much Shannon, both trips were beyond amazing. Something I’ll never forget or regret). But I never went through life, jotting down place after place on my plastic pail list either. I didn’t long to see Italy, France or Germany, it just sort of happened, although it was unbelievable. Plus, Hubs stayed behind and stood guard over my tiny dwelling so I could rest easy while I was gone.

Only home by a lake, North Muskegon, 1998…

So how come I can’t be carefree, leave at a moments notice and not fret about my little homestead (and being here) while I’m gone? What in my DNA causes me angst unless I’m in this exact spot doing my regular routine? (I might need therapy-if I only knew someone). I don’t think it’s age related because I’ve been like this my whole adult life, but I do fear it is getting worse as I age. I enjoy being here. I long to stay home. I’m hypnotically drawn back here after short stints elsewhere. After work, I simply can’t wait to get to my little crib. I don’t want to stop 5 different places running errands. Or go out to eat. This is my sanctuary. I’m comfortable here and safe. Sweat apparel is approved by management, makeup’s not required.

Our present dwelling place right after we landscaped, 2016…

It’s not that I don’t get cabin fever. After 2 days on the inside, there is a sense of urgency to go somewhere-anywhere. Drive the Jeep, stop a few places, interact with some other humans gracing our earth. But after a couple hours, that need has been filled and the urge to drift homeward is strong. I want to be home. Does anyone else feel this way about their little residence? Are these feelings unhealthy? Do I care if they are? While envious when I read of friends traveling around the country, there haven’t been many times when I wished it was me instead of them. I like being home. No, I love being home. I’m ok with that, just wish the longing and needing part to always be here would be a little less annoying and intense…

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