michaelboy | Worn in Glorious Circles

In the fifties, my parents were newly married. The house was new and all the trim was fresh with carefully stained pine wood. The freshness of our home was substantially changed by years of running the vacuum into that new molding along with the dinging of walls and trim with numerous furniture rearrangements, several carpet changes, door slamming, random kid scribbles and later many inadvertent wheelchair scrapes.

Next I lived in the house where I was the parent and many of the same kind of marks were left there: a dented cold-air return, a bathroom door jamb that was broken during a kid fight, door knobs that rattled, more wheelchair scrapes, overspray paint marks on concrete from hastily completed school projects, and windows with broken latches.

Now we see the homes of patients that have cracked concrete and plaster, peeling wallpaper, and outdoor steps that have long heaved -- all of which will not be repaired in their own lifetimes.

In several ways it feels sad, as it signals an ending, but more completely, it is very good to know that all of these homes were once places well used and changed significantly by family.

Yet, there are houses that are never really worn with character -- living rooms where no one was ever allowed to tread, perfectly vacuum-striped carpet and couches covered in protective layers of clear vinyl -- they just do not seem much like homes.