When driving by large homes in beautiful neighborhoods, we all admire how beautiful they are and wonder what it's like to live in one of them. As a kid, I had the chance to live in one of those houses, nicknamed “The Elevator House” by the locals, for being so tall. A great big contemporary home, full of huge glass window panes and seven stories tall, our house was built into the side of a cliff, with a cavernous, glacial rock waterfall nearby. We moved there when I was 11, from a one-story ranch starter home. My father, a busy architect, fell in love with the house at first sight. When mom and I saw it, we were awed over the natural setting it was in, and the beauty of the tall trees, whose canopies were right in front of our bedroom windows.
The house was built by a man and his wife, who traveled a lot. The Realtor had to chase them down in order to get them to sell, and after some sweating and a bunch of calls, the house was ours. It had its own intercom system, which I thought was really cool. Being just the three of us, we had room to move, and interesting tall ceilings and open spaces everywhere. A California contemporary built by architect, Harland Sherman, it wasn't the usual sight in the outer suburbs of Cleveland, Ohio. We lived in a quiet subdivision, and the back overlooked a big lake. In the winter, kamikaze snowmobile operators would ride their vehicles out across the ice, full speed. Nobody ever broke the ice that I knew of but it was always amazing what they got away with.
Living in a tall house means that there are a whole lot of stairs. Unlike it's nickname, the house had no elevators. The previous owner had installed bright green, shag carpeting (this was in the seventies), and my dad always said that we should stick a few fake dandelions here and there, just for fun. Navigating a bunch of steps can be exhausting, even for a kid. Sometimes, one or another of us would miss, and we'd come running to see if there were injuries. Lucky for us, all that got injured was our pride here and there.
Now, as an adult, living in a one bedroom flat overlooking a lake, it isn't the same but is comfortable nonetheless. It was a lot of work keeping up with a big house, and it cost a lot to heat every winter. My little apartment has everything taken care of for me. There's something to be said for having a space that's manageable to keep up. It was an honor to live in that lovely house, but I like my way of life now. Lots of room is nice, but so is the convenience of being close to everything. Our big home was far from creature comforts, except one dinky little mall.
Now, my place is in walking distance to the bank, a great grocery store, a bunch of restaurants and malls, at the end of a quiet street. Once you enter the grounds of the development, it's like a quiet nature preserve. I still drive by big houses and think about living in them, but the memories of our house all those years ago, is enough for me. It doesn't matter how big or small the place is, as long as it feels like home. This place is mine, and happily meets my needs, in its own cozy way. I am most definitely home.
