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In three days we make our move from California to Cabuya, Costa Rica. A new country, climate, and culture. Even the critters will be different–Can you say scorpions? As the move grows near, I’ve been observing my sons’ excitement and stress as they shift into the unknown. I wonder how they are going to cope with leaving their home of nine years. This of course, makes me think about my childhood home and how it shaped me.
It’s been about 30 years since I left that house on 2957 Yana Avenue, where I lived from age four to nineteen. Through memory and photographs I can recall and conjure details from the house: the lime green kitchen where I carved my initial K backwards into the cabinet; the two vinyl red barstools held together with duct tape that used to stick to the back of my legs or snag my nylons; the persistent dog and cat odors of the shag carpets; and the narrow hallway area under the swamp cooler, offering the only respite in the 100+ degree heat.
In my thirties, long after I had moved from that 1955-era ranch style home, I read Gaston Bachelard’s seminal work Poetics of Space where he illuminates the value of lived space whether that is a shell, a closet, or the House of Usher. In the book, he asks readers to imagine the doorknob of the house they grew up in. And sure enough, when I did, that jangly, scuffed up brass knob reappeared in my right hand. Bachelard’s point was not just the amusing trickery of the brain, but his philosophy that the home, no matter its physical characteristics, is like a secondary womb, where our unconscious is imprinted, a sort of bas-relief. It also houses our internal landscapes. Try it. If you dip into the images of your first shelter, you will likely have these visceral responses and perhaps, untapped memories.
“It is better to live in a state of impermanence than in one of finality.”
Gaston Bachelard
Our house that we are leaving in El Granada, CA is a small, two-bedroom, treehouse, on stilts–no yard but a eucalyptus forest and ocean that are visible from most of the rooms. Backed up to the top of a winding hill that borders the open space reserves, it has felt like an oasis of isolation and nature. And woo boy, what a gift during COVID to have these hiking trails literally at our doorstep. This last year many friends who live in suburbs came for socially distanced visits, reveling in the proximity to nature. But the one thing we are looking forward to is less isolation. Here, we can’t walk to the beach though we can see it–and we can’t ride a bike as we are at the top of an aggressively steep hill. Sometimes we even sit above the coastal cloud layer. This house has made us into keen observers.
We aren’t sure what features of this house will adhere to Lazlo’s and Harrison’s memories. We hope it has been a positive shelter, but we can never know what kind of womb the house has been for them. Maybe, the balcony–the ability to throw and watch all kinds of items launch off into the hillside below is something that will stand out. Perhaps, the narrow garage turned into a music studio for Michael, where Lazlo learned GarageBand, watched his papa use ProTools, recorded himself singing a “Another One Bites the Dust” or “Let it Go,” and played with oversized electric guitars. Harrison has a keen memory and will likely recite if the house had a bathtub or shower and how many. Drawn to comparisons, he’ll likely find features in the new house that weren’t here like hammocks or the warm sea.
Though we have had moments of stress and difficulty in preparing to uproot (60-day notices force a hustle), it is uncanny how we have all separately been on the precipice of change. Harrison is close to aging out of Oakhill, his school in San Anselmo since he was 9 years old. And there are no day programs open right now that are appropriate for him. Lazlo’s expressive language has dramatically spiked along with his body; he’s in the 98 percentile in height and weight for a seven year old. He needs new physical challenges and is longing for more friends and social interactions. I’m finishing up my work coordinating the Umoja program that I helped start at Foothill College in 2016. And after a grueling year of cancer treatment and surgeries, Michael is ready for a change in his work and music life and welcomes having a surfable wave in walking distance. We are ready to take different action, dream different dreams.
“I should say: the house shelters day-dreaming, the house protects the dreamer, the house allows one to dream in peace.”
Gaston Bachelard
As we leave, I offer gratitude for this house, “730” as Lazlo calls it, for offering us a place to dream, heal, and move into the next phase of our lives.