1..2...3....4 = HOME

The old stove is an object of sentimental value to me. It brings all of the following objects together to create an experience of home for me. Though, this is my grandmothers house. It was the only constant "home" throughout my life. I relate closely with Pallasmaa in that I lived in many houses as a child. In fact, I attended 5 different schools during 1st grade alone. Yes, I can name them all. No, I do not remember all of the houses of that year. So, my grandmother's my "experiential home." The left picture is a miniature of the stove pictured on the right. My grandmother gave it to me to because she loved her stove and, I'm sure, wanted to imprint the same appreciation for me. The mini is packed carefully away until I obtain a permanent home for myself. Where, there, it will be displayed in my kitchen as a reminder of its significance to my childhood. Pallasmaa states that "our homes of adulthood are, perhaps an unconscious search for the lost homes of childhood" (p. 116). For me, I think I'm well aware of my search for what that memory holds. He also says that home is a collection that helps us recognize and remember our identity. I couldn't agree more. Memories fail over time, but our surroundings will remind us of things we can't always quickly recall. Personally, my self-actualization is dependent upon understanding the history, experiences, heredity and emotions that collide to make me-ME! To appreciate all of it as an influence will help direct the path I hope to follow in the future.


The rocking chair is a significant piece of furniture to me. From the time I can remember, my grandmother rocked me. She did this until the day she died, even though I was too big and was afraid I'd hurt her. She insisted, and I graciously accepted. I can't count the number of rockers she had. There was always one near the stove (pictured top right), one near the living room fireplace, on the front porch, the back porch and in the yard. It was always a source of comfort to me, and always will be.
By the way, above left is me in her most memorable rocker, with her dentures in my mouth and her coffee cup in hand. I guess I thought I looked like her.



The back porch. Above left is my grandfather building the back porch, in 1982. The stove, pictured top right) is located on the back porch. Basically, he added onto the house at the back door, which exited the house through the dining room. So, the back porch is separated by a wall adjacent to the kitchen and dining room. There were windows looking into the back porch too. And it didn't seem like a porch really because it was closed in. But there were shutters which covered the screens (window-like) and could be opened during summer or when the iron stove produced too much heat. My grandmother used the iron (originally wood-buring, modified for gas) stove to do canning and jarring of vegetables and jams and preserves. When she wasn't doing that, there was just always food cooking there. So, the original back door became a joining epoxy for the gathering or focal point of the house. The original kitchen and dining room windows further facilitated the connection of the spaces to create one big event center for the home.



As also described by Pallasmaa, "the table", or this event center of the house, "was a stage for eating, sewing, playing, doing homework ("my lessons"), socializing with neighbors and strangers" (p. 122) COOKING was the routine event which knitted all these sentimental things together for me (as well as the rest of the family). Above pictured left is me and my first Cabbage Patch Kid, sitting on kitchen island (which was a singer sewing machine folded in. And pictured above right is my first hair cut. The singer was moved to the "back porch" and replaced with a butcher's block.
I was surprised to read so many similarities or familiar circumstances of Pallasmaas' article. And I couldn't agree more on the discovery that "the sorrow for a lost home is very similar to the mourning of a lost relative" (p. 117). All of these fond memories and comforts can never be experienced again after the loss of this home. And I will always strive to recreate an assimilation of this "experiential home" for myself.