Sunday, June 14, 2009


Home, there is no place like it, and according to who you talk to it’s where the heart is, or wherever one lays their head. Not quite, and not any place can be one. Whether it be a castle, a shack or a 1974 Airstream Ambassador. It’s a person’s kingdom, their sanctuary. I’ve always prided myself on having a place where I can shut out the world, invite in whomever I choose, and relax and feel at peace. A place where I feel comfortable puking my brains out if I get sick, and a place where I like to walk around naked. What makes that homey feeling? It’s something that spans ages and cultures. Now I feel a little like Dorothy, all I want to do is to go home. But for as much as I click my heels, I’m not getting anywhere, and I’m definitely not in Kansas.
For the last decade, I have moved about once a year. Some places feel like home the very first night. Others take awhile. When I think of home, I also still think of my parents house. Although when I go there I don’t know where anything is anymore because I haven’t lived there in ten years.
I say that I have felt homeless for the past five months; Ed says he’s felt homeless for seven, ever since he lost his job and we knew we would have to move. L.A. didn’t feel quite the same after that. Not feeling like you have a home is a very unsettling feeling to have for any length of time.
I’ve got a Paul Simon song stuck in my head.
The Airstream is not home for us. It would be great for just one person who doesn’t cook very much. It would also be a great camping trailer, for a week or two at a time. But it is not home. It’s so small; Ed and I have to crawl over each other to move. I can’t stretch or put my shirt on without my elbows hitting a wall. I’m always hitting my head on the door jam stepping in and out of this place. It also amazes me, for how small this place is, how easy it is to loose and misplace things. I’m constantly tearing the trailer apart looking for my keys.
To end on a happier note, one of the good things about being homeless here: being able to eat from our garden. Our radishes are ready! It’s so exciting to see the little tops pushing out of the ground, so satisfying to pull it out of the dirt. They smell incredibly fresh and are so pretty. Ed can eat radishes whole, I normally can take a small bite before my eyes water.


  1. I came here from L.A. and thought what a podunk little town,but after spending time and decideing I need to take controll of what I can controll things got better, I have been here for 21 years.
    It's not L.A. and will never be l.a. Instead of looking at what you had ,look to waht you can do.
    It's really not that bad.

  2. Thank you for your comment anonymous. But I would like to clarify, I'm not lamenting L.A. I'm contemplating 'home' as an abstract concept. What is it about a place (e.g., a cave, tent or structure) that induces the feeling in one that they are at home there?
    Again, thanks for reading!