Building Cabins

I’ve lived in eighteen different homes over the years, in thirteen cities and towns, on two continents. I’ve put up with Idaho’s ice, New York’s gnats, Yorkshire’s umbrella busters, California’s smog and Utah’s winter inversions. I have memories of almost all of these homes, and from time to time they come back to me as I sleep. In dreams I walk down hallways and turn doorknobs, climb stairs and look out windows in houses and apartments I haven’t seen in decades. Subsequent residents may have added a sun room or updated the kitchen, but in my head all these homes are exactly the way they were when I lived there; right down to the footed bathtub or the creaking step halfway up to the landing. It’s further proof, if we really needed it, that we don’t really own the homes we live in after all. They own us.