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Praetorium Honoris

Tuesday, July 23, 2019

Home is...sometimes tough to define.

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Sarge’s Saturday post was a little sad for me.  Several years ago, his father had his home pulled out from under him through redevelopment, which might have been legal and justified, but it doesn’t make it right.  I never met him, and don’t have much of a connection to him other than through The Chant, but I felt sorry for him all the same.  

I guess that’s some good writing, when a writer can put you in the moment and feel something, but I digress.  If you missed the post, a developer bought the land on which his father’s home stood and turned it into some nice modern residences, but four good families lost theirs.  I know of other similar situations involving trailer parks.  There’s one right on Mission Bay here in San Diego which is a ghost town now.  The 50 year lease expired several years ago, and after much litigation, hundreds of folks, many of them old, have had to find other places to live.  And in San Diego, that’s difficult to do.  But like most litigation, especially here in California, it’s costly, and so was the settlement.  The residents received the equivalent of four years rent, courtesy of the San Diego taxpayer.  Twenty-two million in all, which probably made them happier than Sarge’s dad.


DeAnza Cove Trailer Park in better days                                        Union Tribune

In a few more years, probably after more litigation, the now city-controlled land will become a wetland park.  But until that time, the city is allowing the nearby for-profit RV park to move in, which is making the former residents quite upset.  I guess that’s progress, that isn’t really progress.  Sure they got their settlement, and everything was legal and authorized, but that doesn’t mean it’s right. 

Now it wasn’t my intent to talk about supposed civic injustices, but it helps me make the point that Sarge essentially started last weekend- you can’t go home again. 

Like other Chanters- both writers and readers, my family moved quite a bit during my military service.  I describe it as over and back, up and down, then back and forth.  Atsugi Japan, Bremerton Washington, and Tampa Florida were the first of those prepositions, but always with San Diego on the return ticket.  We bought our home on that first return trip and fortunately, it’s always been here when we got back.  It was definitely a crushing burden of debt* when we first moved in, but we’ve pretty much crushed that debt, and we’ll be sans mortgage come winter.




We always held onto it because we knew SanDog would be our permanent home.  It helped that The Mighty War Hoover- aka the S-3B Viking, you know, the one up in the marquee that has no sharp edges- safe for kids!, was based here.  Even when the Navy sent us away, I could always find duty back here afterwards.  So my kids always had their home- a foundation for their PCS moves that helped center them as San Diegans I’d like to think.


Oregon's old border sign which most translated as "please don't stay."  Source

When I left Oregon 11 years after arriving, I never really looked back.  Mom sold the old homestead, and I don’t really feel the need to look back fondly on that place, nor do I reminisce sadly.  I enjoy visiting the town I grew up in, as long as there’s a half a decade or so between visits.  Ok, that’s not fair, my younger siblings still live there, and my wife has extended family there so we are still well connected, but it’s not home.  We’ve lived in San Diego far longer than I lived in Southern Oregon and my roots are deeper here. 

Someone else lives in our house now so there's no real connection to it now.  Don't get me wrong- I'm grateful to have grow up there, to have helped build it, but I can’t recreate the fun times I had with my friends there, I can only remember them.  It's the same thing now with my Squadron-mates- when we get together, we talk about those flights, the port visits, the other guys.  But we’re not flying again, we’re not young men again drinking (sometimes to excess) in an admin overseas, we are just remembering, not reliving.

Those displaced folks in that trailer park- they obviously can never go home again, but they were well compensated and that helps mitigate any loss, and their dwellings will be replaced.    

That house my family built and I grew up in is not home anymore, and I’m ok with that.  The town has changed a lot too.  Sure, it can be sad to see what progress looks like, but that doesn’t change the memories.  When it comes down to it, a house is just a dwelling, but a home is what you make of it.

Here's a clip from Gross Point Blank with John Cusak, one of my favorite movies and actors, which sums it up nicely.

   
Anyway, I’ve got a “new” home now and I don’t plan to leave.  Because of that, my kids will be able to go home again...although we are NOT letting them move back in! 


*Lex referred to his home here in San Diego as his Crushing Burden of Debt, which is only more apropos these days with a market that has eliminated "entry-level" homes here, and in most of California.

22 comments:

  1. "No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man." Heraclitus

    Yeah, I paddle my SUP there regularly in the cove by Campland. A bit of a melancholy in the scene.

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    1. Seen the video of Horton Plaza? Same thing.

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  2. A very evocative post Tuna. Well done.

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  3. Yeah. I was born and raised in Miami, Florida in a house that my father built ( I "Helped" as a tike of 4). The house was then on the edge of the Everglades. The area the house is in (yep, I Google Earthed it) is now deep in suburbia, and, I gather, in an area no longer part of the United States in any meaningful way.

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    1. Depends on what part of Miami. The Broward Coward people? Aliens, mostly from up north trying to remake Florida into the hell that they left from (periodically some idjit from there floats the concept of income tax. Hsssssssssss (not the sounds of all the pythons down there, just the sounds of tax-haters hating the tax-lovers.)

      Other parts of Miami, the Cuban-American part, are actually more USA than the other parts of Miami. Gotta love any place that broke out into a 3 day party after Fidel Castro died. I expect a 2 day party when Raoul dies.

      That part of Miami/South Florida that keeps getting Florida into trouble over elections and congresscritters and such, we could do without. Please. Get rid of Fredericka the Cowboy Clown, Debbie Whatshername Schultz and a few others. At least we finally got rid of Bill Nelson, who was elected by the denizens of Rat-Run City (otherwise known as Orlando, which wouldn't be near the problem it is if it didn't have big-brother lefty-Miami to help swing things left.)

      Ahhhhhhhhh. (Kicks soap box, jumps around with broken toe because soap box was full. Of soap...)

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    2. The house is actually one block from the intersection of The Trail and Red Road. I knew it wasn't "Home" when I flew there (From Precomm in New Orleans) to check on my mom, who was teaching school in North Miami, right after the last set of race riots (1980). I was running in the early AM around my old neighborhood, past my old Elementary School etc, and stopped at a DQ for coffee. A police officer took me aside and asked if I was from around there. I said I was raised about a block from here, to which he replied that the neighborhood wasn't really safe any more. I got my Mom to retire and move (to Brevard NC) shortly thereafter. Yeah, I'm on your soap box too!!!

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  4. Excellent post, Tuna!

    As a military brat and veteran, my first 43 years obviously involved a lot of moving. Once I was old enough to form an opinion, I considered Texas home, but not any particular location therein. That changed when we moved here and this is most definitely my home. On our trip last weekend, Mrs J talked about many of the small towns we drove through and discussed the elephant in the room (what to do if the pipeline company decides our place is the right place to put it). None of the places we visited gave us the same feeling we got when we drove into this town the first time. We both knew right then, this was "home". We shall see what the future brings.

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  5. Trust your gut, that tells you where hearth and home is. Like a delayed charge, Tuna, your post hit home......... :)

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    1. Thanks guys. I remember my 5 year old son asking to go home to San Diego after one particular "rough" day in Kindergarten up in Bremerton. He was already a homebody.

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  6. Home is a “when” not a “where”
    Although many times it’s both.
    I’ve lived in a number of places over time.
    I can probanly count on the the fingers of one hand those which were actually home.
    I cannot return to any of those homes.
    Nor do I really wish to.
    I am home now.

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    1. I'm friends with the man who grew up in the room I grew up in so I could easily go visit, but they've completely renovated the place so...no, not home.

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  7. The Family home is down in Satellite Beach, FL. Purchased in 1973 after Dad got out of the Air Force. Moved in just in time for Thanksgiving and Christmas '73, and we had snow flurries on Christmas Morn (hey, shuttle people, it gets cold in Central Florida, so how about some foreshadowing of doom over cold temps???)

    I moved away in 1985, to a nice house with a nice, soon to be wife. Dad died in 1991, and eldest brother bought the Casa, and he and mom built a 'guesthouse' for her to live in.

    We lost the Beans' spread due to several not nice things. So we (Mrs. Andrew and I) are now apartment dwellers. Hardest thing was distilling a 3 bedroom house into a 1 bedroom apartment. Doing this we discovered HOME is where you and your spouse (well, at least me and my spouse) currently domicile on a semi-temporary basis.

    Not that we wouldn't be out into Micanopy (yes, google, that's actually a town name so poo on you I spelled it right!) or McIntosh (like the apple) or down in Marion County. But, well, since I haven't won yet, here we are.)

    Some people can get fixated on the physical home. And I understand that. But like (nny)US said, "I am home now." Good man, (nny)US.

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    1. Mom had to sell the homestead (see it here: https://oldafsarge.blogspot.com/2014/03/nobody-said-life-was-fair.html) when my brother joined the Army and moved out. That was a requirement of the divorce decree. I could have easily bought it for the sale price ($40K), but didn't even think about it at the time.

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  8. Antique Gunner's Mate - My family has lived within a ten mile radius since being banished from Beantown in 1638 and in our current town since 1740. This was the "Home of Record" for 7 of us while on active duty. Since completing our various tours some of us have re-located to California, Texas, Georgia, Florida, and Massachusetts (the Mass. warrants have all expired). Some of us don't Transplant very well and keep returning.

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    1. Banished from Beantown in 1638? Heck, I'd put that on the family coat of arms I would. Something to be proud of. Then again, I'm a northern New Englander and avoid Boston when I can. (Damned traffic!)

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    2. It was good to have Oregon as a HOR during my service- no requirement to pay income tax earned out of state, and only $50 car registration every 2 years. I'm paying over $400 annually here in CA and the taxes? Don't get me started.

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  9. Continued from above : In our group it seems "HOME" is where the beloved Wife says it is.

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    1. Quite a bit of truth in that statement! I can see Yul Brynner right now

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    2. That's kinda the unofficial motto of The Chant, innit?

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  10. In the whole 35 years I spent in Kalifornia, I never felt "at home". I always felt like I was on an extended Field Service assignment. I felt more "at home" on the two ships I worked on, and the Iowa had that "home" feeling to it, but dwellings on land? Just some place to stay for a while.

    We were here in Northern Colorado about two weeks, and I turned to my wife one night after dinner as were out watching the sun set over the Rockies, and said "I'm home...", which I had to explain to her.

    Sometimes "home" can be a place or area; much more than just a simple dwelling. The people who live there are an important factor, and their values and attitudes.

    That's probably why I rarely felt "at home" in California. I grew up in the Midwest, and my core values and attitudes reflect that. The laid-back California "Surfer Dude" attitude was fun to watch, but as I grew older, and California changed significantly, the Surfer Dudes all seemed to disappear, and I didn't care for what was taking over.

    I give thanks everyday that we were able to get out of there, and go "home", at least a little bit.

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Can't be nice, go somewhere else...

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