rivettingKateTaylor

Is your house just a house – or is it your home? Or is it both?

Is there a difference? Does it matter?  So many questions, so little time.

My answer – it doesn’t matter where you live as long as your family is there.

But having said that – how many times can you move without it having an effect? There are two little girls in my daughter’s class who are on their third school (they’re only Year 3 or about the old Std2). They are both bright and friendly, but the mother of one readily admits her daughter doesn’t make friends easily. Is that because she knew she might have to say goodbye to them come next gypsy day (changeover of sharemilkers on dairy farms)?

One move may make you stronger – will lots of moves have the same effect or the opposite? Hey – I’m no psycho-analyst (psycho maybe) I’m just thinking out loud.

……..waiting for the smoke to clear.

Does having the same bed, duchess and pictures make the room your own no matter how long you’ve had it or how many have gone before it? Different house, different garden, different adventures – change is as good as a holiday?

Each to their own. This isn’t a gripe session at those who move – I am just dreadfully sad to be losing some wonderful neighbours – again. It’s a rental and our wonderful neighbours keep finding places to buy.

These neighbours have moved many times before – but this move requires a change of school for their seven year old and the realisation that their preschooler will never be taught by the wonderful Mrs Ormsby at Takapau School (and we have to look for another BOT member).

The first 17 years of my life were spent in the same house on the same farm with the same school bus times, same neighbours, same cats, same parents, same sisters – although being the youngest the number of siblings gradually reduced until I was the apple of Mum and Dad’s eye (or the bane of their existence?) and had the choice of bedrooms.

Aside from four years flatting – Gore 1, Christchurch 3,  Alexandra 2 and Napier 1 – I have only lived in three houses (although you can take a ChCh one off as I discovered on the first night that not only were they vegetarian and don’t appreciate home grown roast mutton but their main green leafy plant wasn’t legal).

I digress (as usual). After 17 years at The Glen in West Otago and then flatting, I had 11 years at Waipari in Hawke’s Bay and now five years at our lovely little cottage in Central Hawke’s Bay  – the only one where I’ve had to pay the mortgage.

But I am no different in mental status (some would beg to differ) from my sisters – Tania’s had only two houses since flatting days, Keri has only had a couple but Maree is on number #38574545 (only slightly exaggerated).

As long as the home fire is burning, I don’t suppose it matters where it is. Imagine if you forgot you’d moved and drove up the driveway of the old place (they say ginseng is good for memory… slap me).

In the words of Paul Young  … wherever I lay my hat, that’s my home.

Shame on you if you just sung it. That’s like that email about licking your elbow…..