The "Family" Home
This term conjures up all kinds of images of scones, jam, cream, chocolate cake, clean laundry, fresh smelling linen and preferably puppies roasting by an open fire. Yesterday I handed someone the keys of what was arguably the last family home that I had. Well, my parent's home, my mothers home, as my dad died two decades ago. My first family home was a 3x1 in a Perth suburb, we had a dog and a cat. Well a poodle, and an awesome cat to be honest. Spot was a cool cat, my first rehomer special. The dog a poodle who bit me, and only liked my mother. It had a pool that my dad spent endless hours cleaning, designing and maintaining when he was home. There we some happy times, but they were overshadowed. It was a house of fog, you knew there was beauty there but it was hard to see. Then dad moved to his flat, which was only a few months, then to an aged care place. Grandma moved two years later, and her little flat was truly a home. It had the smells, the order, the freshness