Monday, January 26, 2009

home is where the heart is

As the man who once said he'd like to live in a new place every six months, and own no more than would fit in his station wagon, "settling down" has been an acquired taste. I also never felt any deep need to own a house, which makes it strange to wake up in a house that I supposedly "own". It's a little bit like the French philosopher behind the wheel of an automobile -- he is fascinated, but almost dangerously detached. The old place felt like something I owned -- spiritually if not legally. It's like a phantom limb; when I go there to clean it, supposedly for the next person, I can't help but "living" there. Time fuses us to our residences, but home itself ultimately comes from within.


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