There is an Indian proverb or axiom that says that everyone is a house of four rooms, a physical, a mental, an emotional and a spiritual. Most of us tend to live in one room most of the time, but unless we go into every room every day, even if only to keep it aired, we are not a complete person.
— Rumer Godden (“A House With Four Rooms,” 1989)
There’s a fair chance that by the time a woman is 40 she will have moved at least seven times during her life. Some moves will be considered “happy” ones, such as your first home, setting up house with your “intended,” or getting married. Some moves may be forced upon you by catastrophic change, such as a divorce, debilitating illness or financial reversals. Some moves will be circumstantial— a new job, the rent goes up, or you’re downsizing. A lot of moves are considered “temporary,” or so you think, until 7 years later, you’re bursting from the seams and really have to make a plausible decision about how you’re going to live your daily round at least for the next year. That’s the situation I find myself in right now.
Still, there’s a reason that moving ranks as the number one stressful rite of passage ahead of death, divorce, or debt. Maybe it’s because no matter what the reason, moving is all of these things simultaneously.
And then there’s the Dream House, which is never about moving and all about romantic obsession. The finding thereof, the obtaining, the bliss of fixing it up to perfection, the months of paint chips and fabric swatches and then, the happily ever after however short-lived that might be and the inevitable wrenching therefrom. I remember when I was looking at houses in England, I was shown an absolutely gorgeous Georgian manse that had been completely restored to perfection. You didn’t have to do anything, except turn the key and unpack your suitcases.
However, this beautiful house was so unsettling from the moment I crossed the threshold, it made me shiver during the visit because the vibrations were so intense. It felt as if the walls were crying. Had someone died? Did a tragedy occur? As I was led from one exquisite room into another, I started to get heart palpitations. The physical distress I felt in my chest became so severe I had to stop. This wasn’t a haunting, I’ve been in haunted houses before and these vibrations weren’t old or menacing. This was fresh sorrow. Raw. Inconsolable. I felt as if I wanted to scoop something up intangible but very real and whisper, “There, there…”
Finally, I had to ask the estate agent what was the real story. “This is some woman’s cherished home and she and the house have been torn away from each other. What’s the truth here?” And the estate agent explained rather embarrassedly that indeed, a middle aged couple had restored the house from 17th century ruins over several years but then, suddenly a few weeks previously the family had to leave abruptly in the middle of the night to escape the Tax Men. Left in the dark, hurriedly abandoning their Dream House. All I could do was bless the house and the woman who loved it so.
I digress. I usually do when I’m telling stories about houses and women because I find them romantic, riveting and enthralling. A love affair with house is the most spellbinding and hypnotic tale that can be told. Some soulmates are flesh and bone, but the enduring love stories as far as I’m concerned are all made of wood and stone. That’s because whether a woman is single, divorced, or married, eighteen or eighty, there’s no passion as perfect as the dream house she will someday inhabit; no enchanting obsession as enjoyable as her home’s beautiful décor; and no illusion as seductive as the fanciful notion that once she crosses the threshold, she’ll stay there forever. “I am as susceptible to houses as some people are to susceptible to other human beings. Twice in my life, I have fallen in love with one,” the early 20th century English writer Katharine Butler Hathaway confessed. “Each time it was as violent and fatal as falling in love with a human being.”
From the scented linen-closet to the built-in kitchen pantry, from the window seat, plump with needlepoint pillows, to the rose-covered arbor leading to the backyard, each nook and cranny of this fantasy has been lovingly imagined since we were little girls “playing house”. No doubt the magic spell was cast when Mother draped a blanket over the dining room chairs and we crawled underneath to put our dollies to bed.
“Even though your dream house is at the end of a long, long road, your head may be buzzing with plans for that home you will have someday. Already you probably have a stack of clippings, sketches and what not—ideas you want remember for your own house,” Elinor Hillyer reassures the young woman who purchased the Mademoiselle’s Home Planning Scrapbook in 1946. “You can’t keep all those house plans in your head—keep them in here.”
The scrapbook is 12 x 15 inches, silver-gray cardboard, spiral bound with big envelopes—one for every room—to stash paper dreams. I’m amazed by the synchronicity between it and my own Simple Abundance Illustrated Discovery Journal published 50 years later, which is also a spiral bound journal with envelopes.
However, I’m stumped by Elinor Hillyer’s first rule for successful dream house planning. “Have a fair picture in mind of the kind of house you want and the kind of life you and your young man want to build for yourself. To be perfectly honest, I created the first Illustrated Discovery Journal as my own insight tool because I couldn’t visualize the life or house I wanted to live in. During the phases of my life, my dream house has run the gamut from a Victorian gingerbread to a Frank Lloyd Wright prairie manse to a French chateau surrounded by a moat. My eventual dream house purchase was an English stone cottage and yet I had to leave it. We think forever is endless, Babe, but it is only allocated to us in moments. Forever can vanish but the moments are yours to savor now.
So I’ve come to the conclusion that really what makes any home you can make for yourself worthy of a dream, are the dreams you’re able to create and commit to while you’re living, temporarily, in this dwelling. As I scour the rental listings, I’m trying to remember that what my soul truly needs to nurture it at this moment is the Anglo-Indian author Rumer Godden’s suggestion of a four room dwelling for the physical, mental, emotional and spiritual selves who dwell within us. Although I may dream of a ranch in Big Sky country, I have been “gifted” with a new dream to bring into the world and all my precious natural resources of time, creative energy and emotion must be allocated to this assignment, which means a small rented home.
Sometimes when we begin our lives over again, we still need to do it in baby steps.
I think I’ll leave us both with a psalm for a safe haven to begin this week.
Dearest Master Builder,
We thank and praise you for the gifts of Simple Abundance, the blessings of domestic bliss and my kindred friend who reads these words. Mother of the Hearth and Father of Homecoming, hear our prayer.
Generous Provider of Sacred Space, bless this woman, my dearly beloved Reader, and the home in which she lives and loves or is seeking. Thank you for the haven of hospitality she has discovered in her home this day; we bless you for the shelter that protects her soul this night. Thank you that the solace of a home which embraces, nurtures, sustains and comforts is part of your Divine Blueprint for our happiness. Bless the foundation upon which she walks, the walls that surround, the roof that covers, the windows that allow light and the threshold that welcome her and hers. With the gift of each day may her love and gratefulness increase. May the peace and plenty she so richly shares with others always be her daily portion. Lead her, Divine Architect, with thanksgiving to the sanctuary you have set apart for her heart—her blessed, beloved House of Belonging. Bring her safely home, we pray.
Be it done, with all praise and honor according to Thee and accepted with thanksgiving by we.
Sending dearest love Babe, and always blessings on your courage.