Thursday, May 25, 2006

Welcome to Rancho Deluxe!

In Memory of John G. Bellai Grandpa Army

"You could walk out of the house, but you always returned home."
--Witold Rybczynski, Home

The people in my family tend to be a sedentary group. My parents bought their house in 1981. My maternal grandparents have called their place in South Carolina home since about 1973. My paternal grandparents were in their house since time immemorial. My cousins and I have been the most mobile of our families, but considering that I lived in the same Los Angeles apartment for nearly 12 years & most of my cousins have had their houses longer than that, it's not really saying much. So you can imagine my surprise to find myself re-packing after being in the now infamous Big Pink for less than a year.

But today I bought a house. I'm still not sure how it feels to say that. It does induce a bit of nausea and "crazy-spinning-head" syndrome, but in a mostly good way. I think. (It probably has something to do with the realization that I'm going to have to remain constantly gainfully employed for the next 30 years.) I mean, I know I said I wanted to buy a house within a year or two, but who knew that I'd actually DO it?!? We all know how impossible this would have been in L.A.

When I first started looking for a place to buy a few months ago (instigated by the sighting of a "Little Pink" house for sale), I thought it would make for a great series of blogs. But it turns out that this has all happened so quickly there was no time for a series. In fact, I first stepped inside my new home less than 2 months ago. My friend Brandt was helping me check some places out and the moment we pulled up he said, "Hmm. Very 'Rancho Deluxe.'" And so a new home was named. And bid on. And counter-offered on. And bought & sold in less than 7 weeks. Sheer insanity as only I know how to do, because my first thought was, "It's perfect."



In the midst of all the negotiating and fretting, my grandfather passed away & it gave me the opportunity to reflect on what a home really means. It's strange to think that I will probably never see my grandparents' house again. My dad and aunt grew up in that house, and my family spent nearly every Thanksgiving & Christmas there. It's the neighborhood my sister & I went trick-or-treating in.
My cousins were always there for the holidays, too, and that's what my memories gravitate toward. I remember playing duck-duck-goose with them on the front lawn & picking cherries off the tree in the backyard. My cousins taught me the only card games I know (War, Go Fish, & Slapjack) in my grandparents' living room. One of my school friends lived right down the street, as did my great aunt Ginny. And I remember my grandfather's ancient green Ford truck sitting in front of the house, complete with its perpetual "Old Car" scent of oil and sunburnt vinyl seats, & their dog Fred waddling around on the grass.

My maternal grandparents also had a wonderful house in New Jersey that I will never see again. It was a renovated coach house for a mansion--a building that once stored carriages, stabled horses, and housed valets. It was a mile into the woods--the end of the line--and the 6-bedroom structure with a gymnasium and outdoor pool at one point or another sheltered 3 generations of my family. My aunt & uncle converted the stables into an apartment. It was the setting of numerous birthday parties & a clambake or two. One time we found a secret room behind a closet, & when I was ready to have my own room at 6 years old, all I had to do was pick from among the 4 empty ones across the hall & shuffle my stuff over. I still remember my mother catching me mid-move & asking incredulously, "What are you doing???" My reply: "I'm moving out." (Moving was much easier then.) It was absolutely heartbreaking to learn that something I had such strong ties to was razed by the current owners, to be replaced by a garage for their car collection.

The architectural theorist Witold Rybcynski wrote, "'Inhabiting' does not only mean living within. It means occupying--infusing a particular site with our presence, and not only our activities & physical possessions, but also with our aspirations & dreams. We live in a house, and in the process we make it alive." I know whoever purchases my grandfather's house will not realize or care about the dreams and the breadth of life that dwelled there, just as the couple who bought the coach house didn't. It feels sad, but it is, after all, just another cycle of life. That's what memories are for.

I'm guilty of the same thing in regards to Big Pink & Rancho Deluxe. My sentiments are completely independent of what the houses & former tenants experienced before I arrived. Lest anyone doubt it, rest assured that I will miss Big Pink. Houses rarely come with the type of character that Pink has honed to a perfection(?) over the last hundred years. I couldn't even start packing until I knew who was moving in after me. But when I discovered a new species of insector gigantus in my bathroom the other night that not even the cats would mess with, I knew I'd made the right decision.

And while Rancho Deluxe may not be as grand as the six-bedroom coach house my mom grew up in, or as classic as the three-bedroom home my dad grew up in, hopefully one day it, too, will know generations of stories.



"The ideal home is one in which the family may be most completely sheltered to develop in love, graciousness and individuality, and which is at the same time most accessible to friends, toward whom hospitality is as unconscious and spontaneous as it is abundant."
--Charles Keeler, The Simple Home

Friends and Family, you're always welcome at Rancho Deluxe.