How fascinating. A former home is like the urn that holds the ashes of everything that happened there. I love the juxtaposition of the lush made-to-order fabric with the sheets from Walmart used as curtains.
Masterfully done, Victoria. And in addition to the portrait of the house, it adds detail to my sense of your father. Most touching is his whispering "my house burned down" ... such a metaphor. And the taboo implicit in that hidden secret room invites reflection on all interior spaces. For some reason when I looked at the large portrait of a woman this morning, I suddenly saw a bit of you in it. The eyes, I think, mostly.
It’s just wonderful that you have these images. Each is worthy of whole essays. The giant head you thought was your mother! Who he’d left in 1970! So much to work with… I’m enthralled.
(One bit of housekeeping.. Lennart actually worked for Bob Kulicke in the 50s. It’s the job that enabled him to remain in NYC and not go back to Detroit with his tail between his legs…)
I love this, Victoria. What an amazing house! Fascinating photographs and memories of it. Thanks for sharing here. So interesting about the untouched, unkempt room and the way it seemed part of your father's psyche.
I still dream of my childhood home – the hoarded house I had to clear after my parents died in 2021 - most nights. And I've kept my final "walk through" video of the house once it was empty, with the dust and layers of peeling wallpapers. My brother now lives next door, so I've seen how it was renovated. It is a lot straighter (it was literally wonky) and far neater than it was, but has lost its character. I think once the Aga light was turned off and then it was ripped out that was it, the heart of it had gone.
Thanks for this, Wendy. I wish I had a walkthrough video like you describe. It's weird to me that I never documented that hidden room.... Maybe I knew it wasn't never for public consumption. Or maybe I will come across some photo when I least expect it. (I thought for a minute that maybe the old realtor listing would include it, but of course not-- it was a mess!)
Wonderful piece. My favorites are the Walmart curtains (something I would do) and the spray painting of everything wicker (what I always do, including spraying everthing metal with rustoleum paint), but more to the point, it's moving to see the interior of his beautiful home and to read your loving desciptions as well as your ambilence and fear of the racoon hidden room. Your writing in this one tells us yet more about who he was and what he means to you. Great writing on both the manifest surface and the subtextual underpinings. Congratulations, Victoria!
When I was a child/teenager, I used to spend every summer at my parents’ house in the South of France. They sold it when I was in my early-twenties, but it’s still a special space for me. It was a villa high up in the hills overlooking an expansive bay, and, in the distance, you could see St Tropez. It had an endlessly terraced garden with fruit trees, and a long paved terrace - where, most nights, my family and their friends would sit eating and drinking - putting the world to rights - until late. We also had a boat in the harbour. I think that some of my artistic sensibilities have their roots in that space/time. It was a really evocative place! It also became the setting of the first few chapters of my first novel, Something So Precious, which is about a gifted writer whose world is turned upside after her parents befriend an enigmatic young artist. Thanks for sharing your memories of your father’s house. Poignant.
I loved this so much. Closed doors are intriguing, even when we know what's behind them. Just something about the barrier, I think -- it doesn't necessarily play with our minds, but it can, from time to time, make you wonder ...
This is lovely, Victoria! I've read quite a lot about your father in your essays, but this feels like the closest I've got. Your essay vibrated with complicated emotions (I mean that in a good way).
So interesting to hear this since whatever you got from this piece about my father was more indirect, maybe— more of a reflected light, through his house. Thanks for that insight!
"I got married in that house, but I was not sorry to sell it when my father died in 2011..."
That sentence says so much about complicated emotions, and I love that you left it as it is without explaining further. It's nice to see you back, Victoria - and that photo of your father is just wonderful!
Thanks so much for linking to my house adventure. And for this lovely and loving look at your dad's place. I'll keep my eyes peeled for the Forster letter.
How fascinating. A former home is like the urn that holds the ashes of everything that happened there. I love the juxtaposition of the lush made-to-order fabric with the sheets from Walmart used as curtains.
Ha-- there were literal urns in front of my father's house! And my father loved to mix-and-match. Thanks for this, Rona. :)
Ah. So he and I are in communication.
Masterfully done, Victoria. And in addition to the portrait of the house, it adds detail to my sense of your father. Most touching is his whispering "my house burned down" ... such a metaphor. And the taboo implicit in that hidden secret room invites reflection on all interior spaces. For some reason when I looked at the large portrait of a woman this morning, I suddenly saw a bit of you in it. The eyes, I think, mostly.
Thank you! My father’s comment so stuck with me too—
It’s just wonderful that you have these images. Each is worthy of whole essays. The giant head you thought was your mother! Who he’d left in 1970! So much to work with… I’m enthralled.
(One bit of housekeeping.. Lennart actually worked for Bob Kulicke in the 50s. It’s the job that enabled him to remain in NYC and not go back to Detroit with his tail between his legs…)
Thanks, Eliza! We have to sit down (virtually) and actually compare notes sometime-- I think you have better data than I do. :)
I love this, Victoria. What an amazing house! Fascinating photographs and memories of it. Thanks for sharing here. So interesting about the untouched, unkempt room and the way it seemed part of your father's psyche.
I still dream of my childhood home – the hoarded house I had to clear after my parents died in 2021 - most nights. And I've kept my final "walk through" video of the house once it was empty, with the dust and layers of peeling wallpapers. My brother now lives next door, so I've seen how it was renovated. It is a lot straighter (it was literally wonky) and far neater than it was, but has lost its character. I think once the Aga light was turned off and then it was ripped out that was it, the heart of it had gone.
Thanks for this, Wendy. I wish I had a walkthrough video like you describe. It's weird to me that I never documented that hidden room.... Maybe I knew it wasn't never for public consumption. Or maybe I will come across some photo when I least expect it. (I thought for a minute that maybe the old realtor listing would include it, but of course not-- it was a mess!)
Wonderful piece. My favorites are the Walmart curtains (something I would do) and the spray painting of everything wicker (what I always do, including spraying everthing metal with rustoleum paint), but more to the point, it's moving to see the interior of his beautiful home and to read your loving desciptions as well as your ambilence and fear of the racoon hidden room. Your writing in this one tells us yet more about who he was and what he means to you. Great writing on both the manifest surface and the subtextual underpinings. Congratulations, Victoria!
Thank you so much, Marnie. It means a lot to have you reading over the whole span of these pieces! You see the biggest picture. 😁
When I was a child/teenager, I used to spend every summer at my parents’ house in the South of France. They sold it when I was in my early-twenties, but it’s still a special space for me. It was a villa high up in the hills overlooking an expansive bay, and, in the distance, you could see St Tropez. It had an endlessly terraced garden with fruit trees, and a long paved terrace - where, most nights, my family and their friends would sit eating and drinking - putting the world to rights - until late. We also had a boat in the harbour. I think that some of my artistic sensibilities have their roots in that space/time. It was a really evocative place! It also became the setting of the first few chapters of my first novel, Something So Precious, which is about a gifted writer whose world is turned upside after her parents befriend an enigmatic young artist. Thanks for sharing your memories of your father’s house. Poignant.
Thanks for your vivid memories too. It sounds idyllic, as childhood can sometimes.
I loved this so much. Closed doors are intriguing, even when we know what's behind them. Just something about the barrier, I think -- it doesn't necessarily play with our minds, but it can, from time to time, make you wonder ...
A few months ago I wrote about a house that was special to me. If you're interested, it's here: https://catherinegiesbrecht.substack.com/p/the-house-at-81?r=btmi
Yes, I see the similarities! Thx for sharing your piece with me. 😁
This is lovely, Victoria! I've read quite a lot about your father in your essays, but this feels like the closest I've got. Your essay vibrated with complicated emotions (I mean that in a good way).
So interesting to hear this since whatever you got from this piece about my father was more indirect, maybe— more of a reflected light, through his house. Thanks for that insight!
Maybe it's a cumulaltive effect, after all?
"I got married in that house, but I was not sorry to sell it when my father died in 2011..."
That sentence says so much about complicated emotions, and I love that you left it as it is without explaining further. It's nice to see you back, Victoria - and that photo of your father is just wonderful!
Thank you, Jodi! It’s good to be here in this space together.
I wish I knew who took that photo. I asked my sister and she’s not sure either. It may have been a neighbor. It really works.
Such a great piece of writing. I am left feeling I just visited the house, and was in the presence of your father.
Thank you so much! And thx for recommending my work. 🙏😁
Thanks so much for linking to my house adventure. And for this lovely and loving look at your dad's place. I'll keep my eyes peeled for the Forster letter.
I loved your house essay. And I've bookmarked your Maurice essay but haven't read it yet. To be continued, and thanks!