My Psychology of Space

Former New Republic journalist Jake Halpern, a self-described “bad homes correspondent,” writes in his book Braving Home about people who endure unusual circumstances, remote locales, isolation, danger, and bizarre circumstances in their desire to lay claim to and maintain their own slice of space. Like the folks who insist on living in Whittier, Alaska, a tiny settlement reachable only by a special tunnel and consisting mainly of a 6-story “apartment” building. Or the Hawaiian hermit housed in a shack surrounded by molten lava. Halpern’s treks lead him to conclude that home is “not just a place, but a work in progress, something built and rebuilt over the course of a lifetime…home is simply who you are.”

My home isn’t anywhere near a lava flow or a flood zone (believe me, I know; I’ve paid for confirmation), but it will definitely have a dose of the unusual…or least the individual. Despite warnings that I must think about resale value, or that I don’t have enough storage space, or that laundry room “should” be near the kitchen/garage/back door, or that this/that/the other thing is going to be too expensive/too strange/too trendy, I’m planning the house that I’m going to live in based on extensive experimental research that I’ve conducted over the years by moving so many times that my mother has erased holes in her address book under my name.

My quasi-methodical research has led me to some conclusions about how I live and how my house is going to accommodate my habits and quirks. I realize this is a luxury, and I’m thankful every day for it. I also realize that in six weeks or eight months or seven years, I might totally contradict myself and question why I ever built that ten-story faux lighthouse above the garage. Pre-forgive me. I am large. I contain multitudes.

Conclusion #1:
Like a lot of people, I live in the kitchen. I dump my stuff there, make my phone calls there, conduct my home office from there, watch TV from there, feed myself/my animals/my friends there. Therefore, the kitchen is the center of my new house. My friend Paula W. just helped me redesign the space to include a larger island, more counter space, a prep sink, a nice corner bench for guests to lounge on while I cook, and a groovy built-in desk. I’m more excited than ever to live there! Paula’s awesome. (That's me at work sketching out the kitchen plan).

Conclusion #2:
Many of my ideas about home have been influenced (big surprise) by the homes I’ve lived in or known, so I’m trying to incorporate elements of those. I’m not going to have a Murphy bed a la my Hollywood studio, but I am going to have a day bed built under the stairs, kind of like the under-the-stairs spot in my Grandma’s old house. And the bench seat in my kitchen is also in homage to Grandma Westcott’s house, as are the built-in bookcases and dining room buffet. Now if I can only find a light-up map of Washington State for the wall.

Conclusion #3:
There’s a chance I could go all Mrs. Winchester on everyone. Not because I plan for endless construction in order to appease evil spirits, but because I’m including some secrets within the walls…a swinging bookcase, a hidden door, and some nooks and crannies that would make Nancy Drew proud. Why? Why not?

Conclusion #4:
Having removed at least five football fields’ worth of wallpaper in my immediate past (including an end zone’s worth of Rocky and Bullwinkle paper), I’ve overqualified to make this pronouncement: wallpaper is wrong and its manufacture should be prohibited. I don’t care if it’s made from the delicate inner thigh skin of endangered albino Siberian tigers or second-growth bamboo dyed with organic dingleberry juice. No house of mine will be befouled by it. I’m busy picking out paint colors, thank you very much Cameron M. for bringing me those samples from Behr’s Disney collection. Bibbiddi Bobbiddi Blue™ will be perfect for my guest bathroom.

And I'm getting closer and closer to actually having a bathroom. The first load o'lumber arrived this week, the site has been meticulously prepped by James (see photo of him explaining to Evie June what a "spawl" is), we have temporary power, any day now the bank should begin releasing chunks of money.

As for an estimated "done date," I dare not guess. Like those Hawaiians living with the uncertainty of eruptions and lava flows, and the Alaskans secluded behind that tunnel in Whittier, I'm living with the strange sense of not knowing when I'll be home. In the meantime, I'm content living with the knowledge that when it is ready, it will be everything I've dreamed of. At least for now.