I did so to find out. Today, I finished writing seven journal pages of thoughts, whimsies and even plain wish lists about what my dream house might be comprised of. Not so much what it "looks like," but what it's "about." Many of those aspects of such a future house (or never-in-the-future-house, as I may never get one) had been eating at me, spinning around in my head in random order.
After I spent an hour or so putting my thoughts down, seeing them on paper, I actually felt much better and even felt released from the fantasy of what "could be." By putting the needs, wants and not wants in front of me in writing, it brought a realism and organization to an unrealistic situation. All and all, a house is not a home. I have a home now. It's the site of what's important to me: family, love, faith, poetry, art. Someday a future house might be a home, too. But I don't have to think about it anymore, right now. Or desire it anymore, right now. Because it's there, inside my journal. If I ever really need to refer to it. I'll be prepared. haha. Nevertheless, all the while, I had fun and learned more about myself and my own personality. Actually, some of the things I "wanted" are ideas I can put forth right now, and cost little to nothing. Perhaps this exercise was more about me than about an actual house.
Some fantasies about a house that stood out in my journal:
~ "Every room should have its own song (or at least a poem written about it with an abstract portrait created in pastels or acrylics) as in Harold Budd's ambient music album 'The Room,' in which room/songs with titles 'The Room of Ancillary Dreams,' 'The Room of Oracles,' 'The Candied Room' and 'The Room of Accidental Geometry' appear."
~ "The house might have a winter bedroom and a summer bedroom, with the seasons' respective clothes in each bedroom closet. The winter bedroom would be on the sunny side of the house, painted in warm, earthy colors. The summer bedroom, on the other hand, would be on a shady side of the house, with cool blues and greens in its palette. "
~ "A house should have a minimum of one bedroom, one bath, one kitchen and a living room with a desk and bookshelves. A house should have a maximum of 10 rooms and then be themed like the game Clue ~ with the Library, the Conservatory, the Billiard Room (or names like the Harold Budd album, above). If unattached at the time, I would try to meet someone named Colonel Mustard, as in the Clue game, or at least someone who likes the mustard color, or the condiment. Just kidding."
~ "If you have so many rooms you just don't know what to do with them all (haha), retain one room for the most kitschy or throw-back-era items you can find: old black velvet paintings, a lava lamp, a round bed with a pastel rococo headboard, spool table, bean bag chairs, tacky vases, plastic flowers, ornate crazy-looking side table lamps from thrift stores, funny road signs, making it a real American Pickers' lived-in paradise."
I also included aspects of a house that SHOULD NOT be included, though other people might think they're important, such as an attached garage, a white kitchen, a formal dining room, cathedral ceilings, be near a golf course, a swimming pool, a media/theater room, PVC plumbing. I don't have any of those things right now, so that's covered!
Of course, my list of what a house SHOULD have is quite long, highlighted by some unusually self-indulgent entries, but also, importantly, to have rock outcroppings nearby, a front door high above ground level reached by stairs, arches somewhere, and space for archery out back.
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