Joie De Vivre

Joie De Vivre by Judith Anderson

Sticks and stones may break your bones, but a house can never hurt you. How could it? Four walls, plaster, nails, windows and a few doors. That’s really all there is to it, right? Wrong.

I tried to write children’s books once upon a time ago. After writing “The Legend of the Easter Cat,” which was a classic along with “The Legend of the Easter Dog,” I tried to pitch my stories to several publishing houses. I remember my first rejection letter, which really didn’t make me feel totally rejected.

It was “heard of” to get a form letter notifying you that your story was not something the publisher fancied; it was “unheard of” to get a handwritten note on your rejection letter. The handwritten note on my rejection letter said, “While I thoroughly enjoyed your story, it is anthropomorphic to a degree that Philomel cannot accept.”

Anthropmorphic! While upset that my story was an “almost” instead of a “yes,” I couldn’t help but keep mumbling “anthropomorphic” over and over again under my breath. I loved saying the word. It made me giggle; it made me happy!

Before my Dad died, I remember sitting with him in the living room of his condo watching TV. Somehow the subject of words that we liked to say came up. I said how I always loved saying “apropos” and “anthropomorphic.” He agreed that those were good words; I have now also added “stiletto” and “kiosk” to my “love to say” word repertoire!

Anyway, I don’t believe a house can hurt you, though I do believe a house can come to mean something more to you than just four walls, plaster, nails, windows, and a few doors. A house can be anthropomorphic. A house can mean the world and your father to you.

After my father died, he left his house on the island to my siblings and his girlfriend. It was a difficult situation. And, my sister and I ended up buying the house.

I had to think long and hard about buying the house. It had been a place of many happy memories. Could it be that way again?

As it turned, it wasn’t. It was nothing but struggle and a total disappointment; life lesson learned. When I left the house the last time (read the linked blog post), I made peace with the fact that the house was not going to be what I had hoped; however, when the house finally sold this week, I fell to pieces because my peace over it was not as I had hoped.

In the 15 years the house had been in the family, I had probably not spent more than 2 months time there. It was not my family home. Oddly, when I thought about it, I could leave my house and drive by every “family” home I had lived in my whole life in under an hour.

There was the house on Water Street in Framingham where I believe I was conceived. There was the house on Greenleaf Circle in Framingham where we moved from when I was four years old. And, then there was the house on Haynes Road in Sudbury from which I left to marry Quinn.

As far as family residences were concerned, the house on the island by the ocean should probably mean nothing to me; however, it meant a whole lot to me. I had never been particularly close to my father, but that house was a place in which I felt I got to know my father a lot better. When I was troubled, I went there and felt instantly warmed when I saw my father waiting for me at the dock and totally loved when I opened the car door and then we drove home.

When my mother died, she was gone. When my Dad died, he left all these things, one of which was this house. When we bought the house, I still felt I had my father in my life and maybe that was my emotional mistake; so be it.

I often called the house “Dad’s house.” My sister would say, “It’s our house.” As I said once before, “Somehow, even though the deed transferred the house on paper, the transfer never quite went through in my heart.”

The house was put up for sale a few months ago for various reasons. An offer came through yesterday morning. I signed on the dotted line, and then I cried all the way to work.

It might be hard for some to understand, but it was as if it was October of 2000 all over again. I was sitting in my Dad’s living room, holding his hand, and telling him how much I loved him. I was losing again and this time it really was forever.

While the house selling was a very good thing, it didn’t come without a price, an emotional price. After the house was gone, my life would improve; I would be able to do so much, but it would be knowing that this house that was my Dad in so many ways would not be with me any longer.

On this island where the house is, some people name their houses. “My Dad’s house” is on Joy Street. The people who own 4 Joy Street have a sign by their door that says “Jump 4 Joy.”

One time when I was visiting, my Dad said that he would like to name his house. I said, “How about Killjoy?” Anne, his girlfriend, howled, and my father gave me his, “You wise guy” look.

My father then said that he was thinking “Joie de vivre,” the joy of living. Anne and I pondered it, and I said, still in wise guy mode, “I still like killjoy!” Anne and I howled again, though the two glasses of wine we each had made it that much funnier that we were totally pissing off my Dad, who was unusually in super serious mode.

When I arrived home tonight and opened the door tonight, I was greeted by total silence. I almost wish I had been; however, immediately Monty came running down the hallway telling me about his day with a “Woof-woof, woof-woof-woof!!!!” Apparently, Liam clawed him in the behind, Plume sniffed his bottom one too many times, and Thunderbolt sneezed in his face; life stinks, then you’re a dog living with three cats!

In a minute, I heard, “Momma?” and Iz rounded the door of the family room and came to greet me. She said, “Where have you been?” as if I had been gone eighty hours instead of eight. I’d like to say that Nathan acted accordingly, but Nathan acted accordingly earlier and texted me that he’d be out with Sam and Joey and then going to the high school basketball game.

I put down my things and walked into the kitchen. Iz had turned on the lights around the windows. I loved my lights, I loved my dog, especially when he was fast asleep and snoring, I loved my tabby mackerel tribe, and I loved my kids. This was home.

I glanced over at the kitchen table and saw the Sears Silvertone radio that had belonged to my grandparent’s. I remember my Dad telling me that he listened to all the radio shows on it when he was a little boy. I knew then that I was always going to see my Dad somewhere in my house when I didn't already feel him in my heart.

I won’t lose any joie from my life when his house is finally sold next month. I will somehow lose my Dad again, and there’s no getting around that. But, sometimes it is necessary to lose joie and to let go in order to finally experience the joy of living. ♥