Years ago, in what now seems like another lifetime, my art director partner and I made a movie for our client, homestore.com. For those who don't know, this was a slipshod shell company that bought the rights to realtor.com, which has all the listings of every house apartment or ADU that's for sale, for rent or for hiding dead bodies in an industrial sized freezer.
It wasn't the sexiest of clients.
What do you say about online real estate listings? So we decided to dive deep into the attachments people have with their homes. More specifically, we profiled a guy who lived full time on a houseboat in an alligator-filled swamp. A woman who owned a huge treehouse in the deep jungles of the Big Island of Hawaii. And among others, a man and wife who had turned an abandoned missile silo in an underground home in Topeka, Kansas.
After the missile silo filming, the couple invited the crew to come back that night for their monthly drum circle. I'm convinced to this day they were all swingers and added mouth organs to the various percussive
That's not the point.
As many R17 readers know, I have spent the last two months getting ready and packed for the big move. Out of my own home in Culver City, where I lived with my late wife and two daughters for half my life and the entirety of theirs. To say I was (and still am) inordinately attached to that house would be an understatement.
I thought I knew the relationship between a home and the person that calls that place home, years ago. But it wasn't until this experience that I have a true measure and understanding of this singular bond.
Yes, it's a bunch of wood, wiring, plumbing, and stucco, but it's also where my girls ran in wild circles in their pajamas around the open floor plan, from the dining room, to the kitchen to the hallway, to the living room and back thru the dining room, over and over again, yipping and yapping and delighting all our dinner guests.
It's where we had so many family gatherings, Birthdays, Mother's Days, Thanksgivings and fast-breaking meals after Yom Kippur.
"Let's order a few pizzas!"
"That's not how it's done", I was told.
It was where I wanted/needed to be, when for the first time in my life I experienced panic attacks -- and no idea what was happening to me -- while in Germany, where I counted the hours to be at home. My home.
And now, after painting, refinishing floors, repairing gutters and stucco, the house is now listed for rent. You can see it here: https://www.cavanaughrealtors.com/homes-for-sale-details/4164-LE-BOURGET-AVENUE-CULVER-CITY-CA-90232/26858089/306/?fbclid=IwY2xjawS9_IhleHRuA2FlbQIxMQBzcnRjBmFwcF9pZBAyMjIwMzkxNzg4MjAwODkyAAEeh7hrPColhtuefQY6beBscve621wrMRJgLX9I-binkNQ0Vz1Ye2zUpnG-9-o_aem_YysaEefB1IjOwEJ6gLBejw
It's sweet and it's bitter. As my sister-in-law put it, "The end of an era."
And as the Stoics & Buddha put it, "A testament to the impermanence of life."
Or, finally, as Dorothy so eloquently put it, "There's no place like home."
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Addendum: If you know of any family looking to rent and take care of my home, please reach out to me or to my realtor.
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