Beautiful, Alice. I thought I was the only one who did this. But of course many writers will do this—many people must do it. There seems to be no safer place than the houses where we were happiest.
Alice, this is so beautiful! I feel the same way with the many places we’ve called home. They live in my memory and I walk through them often as solace. I hope you find your next perfect house.
Oh, I feel this deeply, and you write it so beautifully. The house I grew up in sold again last winter. Seeing those photos—of the home it had been and some new place I'd never known—was a strange heartbreak. It was all still there, but the last owners changed so much. I've always wondered who else is touring the past on Zillow.
I really loved to a "consoling degree," Alice. Also, such a compact way of working in elapsed time in this phase, "I think of him, only twenty-five years past having to leave school at eight to support his family." Really savored reading this!
I loved and can relate to this house love. Wishing you success and pleasure in your search for your next home. I selfishly hope that it will be in Maine.
Lovely, Alice. Writing now about my grandmother's house and garden, but with different people living inside and roaming the grounds. It's odd thing to separate the place from its inhabitants.
I wonder if grandparents truly understand the significance of their homes to their grandchildren—how formative they are to our lives. I too visit these on Zillow far more than the homes I actually grew up in that were suffused with tension, especially the last one. Even though both of my grandparents homes in Queens have changed dramatically, it gives me great comfort to wander through the photos and think, that’s where the bedroom was, that’s the shadow of the living room mantel. Both modest homes, they are places where I felt so deeply, uncomplicatedly loved. I was the only/oldest grandchild for 8 years and doted upon; I often think that whatever came after in my life, I was so fortunate to have been the vessel of so much love from these people.
I feel this deeply. I wrote about the very unremarkable house I grew up in on Long Island, how the new owner had taken down trees that meant things and kept my secrets. I guess one can’t be surprised by change, though change will disrupt the heart.
I am named for my maternal grandmother. I was fortunate enough that Gran lived a happy, healthy life and was able to meet my husband and children. She died a little over 10 years ago and I nurse an unsoothable ache. I dream of my grandparents home all the time. Sometimes, in order to fall asleep, I walk through the home and revisit every corner, every book, every tchotchke. My own children are obsessed with my parents home. As everyone has aged, there is a lot of conversation about Gigi and Papa's house and if it will stay in the family. My children in college also beseech my husband and I to never leave the town where they (mostly) grew up and yet Tim and I have wanderlust. I am a frustrating amalgamation of nostalgia and curiosity.
I love this - I visit my homes, my friends’ homes, my family’s homes frequently on Zillow. The house I grew up in in Indiana has been completely gutted, and half the lovely yard has been turned into pavement for whatever giant truck its new owner has. My grandparents’ home looks exactly the same, and I hope the cold spots that my grandma thought were ghosts are still there, too. The house we lived in when my kids were young has a new kitchen, and although my old kitchen was a nightmare, it makes me sad that the new kitchen has really boring cabinets. I used to have decrepit (but charming) white cabinets (original to the 1933 house) with cute colored glass cabinet pulls that I bought at Anthropologie, so hopefully someone saved those. We are having the same thoughts about the next chapter: Hudson Valley or the Berkshires for us!
Beautiful, Alice. I thought I was the only one who did this. But of course many writers will do this—many people must do it. There seems to be no safer place than the houses where we were happiest.
Now I want to look up some of my past houses. Beautiful and evocative.
Alice, this is so beautiful! I feel the same way with the many places we’ve called home. They live in my memory and I walk through them often as solace. I hope you find your next perfect house.
Oh, I feel this deeply, and you write it so beautifully. The house I grew up in sold again last winter. Seeing those photos—of the home it had been and some new place I'd never known—was a strange heartbreak. It was all still there, but the last owners changed so much. I've always wondered who else is touring the past on Zillow.
I really loved to a "consoling degree," Alice. Also, such a compact way of working in elapsed time in this phase, "I think of him, only twenty-five years past having to leave school at eight to support his family." Really savored reading this!
You really nailed it for me with this piece, Alice. Tugged at every last one of my frayed heartstrings.
I loved and can relate to this house love. Wishing you success and pleasure in your search for your next home. I selfishly hope that it will be in Maine.
Lovely, Alice. Writing now about my grandmother's house and garden, but with different people living inside and roaming the grounds. It's odd thing to separate the place from its inhabitants.
I wonder if grandparents truly understand the significance of their homes to their grandchildren—how formative they are to our lives. I too visit these on Zillow far more than the homes I actually grew up in that were suffused with tension, especially the last one. Even though both of my grandparents homes in Queens have changed dramatically, it gives me great comfort to wander through the photos and think, that’s where the bedroom was, that’s the shadow of the living room mantel. Both modest homes, they are places where I felt so deeply, uncomplicatedly loved. I was the only/oldest grandchild for 8 years and doted upon; I often think that whatever came after in my life, I was so fortunate to have been the vessel of so much love from these people.
I feel this deeply. I wrote about the very unremarkable house I grew up in on Long Island, how the new owner had taken down trees that meant things and kept my secrets. I guess one can’t be surprised by change, though change will disrupt the heart.
I am named for my maternal grandmother. I was fortunate enough that Gran lived a happy, healthy life and was able to meet my husband and children. She died a little over 10 years ago and I nurse an unsoothable ache. I dream of my grandparents home all the time. Sometimes, in order to fall asleep, I walk through the home and revisit every corner, every book, every tchotchke. My own children are obsessed with my parents home. As everyone has aged, there is a lot of conversation about Gigi and Papa's house and if it will stay in the family. My children in college also beseech my husband and I to never leave the town where they (mostly) grew up and yet Tim and I have wanderlust. I am a frustrating amalgamation of nostalgia and curiosity.
I truly love this piece--I’m teaching a workshop on place in memoir starting on Tuesday, so this is ❤️
I love this - I visit my homes, my friends’ homes, my family’s homes frequently on Zillow. The house I grew up in in Indiana has been completely gutted, and half the lovely yard has been turned into pavement for whatever giant truck its new owner has. My grandparents’ home looks exactly the same, and I hope the cold spots that my grandma thought were ghosts are still there, too. The house we lived in when my kids were young has a new kitchen, and although my old kitchen was a nightmare, it makes me sad that the new kitchen has really boring cabinets. I used to have decrepit (but charming) white cabinets (original to the 1933 house) with cute colored glass cabinet pulls that I bought at Anthropologie, so hopefully someone saved those. We are having the same thoughts about the next chapter: Hudson Valley or the Berkshires for us!
❤️ I could have read 50x this much about these houses and their people. I’ve been writing about my grandparents’ house, where I still go in my dreams
loveliness ❤️