A Sense of Place

"Your first task is to find the place where your soul is at home"

Marsalis Ficino-15th century philosopher (I know you have all his albums)



You're tired, I'm sure, of hearing me write about my home, The Hermitage (TH).  It's hard to explain why it's so important to me, but one way to think about it is I've never felt so attached to a building or community as I have to this small former slave cottage in the historic district of one of Virginia's oldest little towns.

I've always needed my places to be me.  I once said TH was decorated in 'early American Aschermann.' What I meant by that was each room was full of my stuff, collected over the ages, meaning 65 years. It has always been important to me to be comfortable in my surroundings. I used to take as much time decorating my office as any apartment I ever had.  Somehow I worked better when I was somewhere that made me comfortable and happy.

As you enter you get lots of history in the dining room.  Jefferson, of course, but a shelf full of pictures of my kids and my family. The dining room table is there, the dining room being a good place for a dining room table.  This is a hospitality-room, if you know what I mean.

The dining room and those above it directly were built in 1900.

To the left is the 'new section' which was built in 1974. The kitchen is functional but like everything in a 1000 square foot home, small and to scale.  I took the dish washer out when I bought the home because I wanted to wash dishes by hand, something I sometimes regret after the annual Christmas party with 40 people...

Walking back through the dining room you enter the old slave cottage.  Built between 1831 and 1850 the town archivist has decided it was probably a slave house because the wood beams in the ceiling are of such poor quality.  This room doubles as my study, with books everywhere, and living room with cozy fire place and busts of Jefferson, Washington, Emerson and Thoreau all stuffed into comfortable corners.

If you go upstairs first you have to watch your head on the low ceiling and the narrow staircase restricts what you bring with you.  Including furniture.  Only a few things could get upstairs and I had to buy two single box springs to make a queen bed because a full size wouldn't get up the stairs.

You emerge from the staircase in a room I call the 'sitting room' because it has two soft recliners and a big screen TV.  On the walls are bright colored prints signed by Peter Max and Leroy Neiman and two large colorful abstract paintings I bought at a show in Atlanta.  There is also a large 13 star American flag framed on the back wall.  More on that in a minute.

To the left is the bedroom, my monastic cell.  Here you feel spirituality with several icons, a Buddha, of course (there are Buddhas everywhere in TH) candles for my morning prayer time etc. This room also has a small alcove where my Davenport Desk (used on ships) fits perfectly and gives me a place to pray/meditate and write. Though I've never seen a monastery cell look quite this 'appointed' (you should see my cell at Holy Cross Abbey-bed, desk, chair... the end), it nevertheless does have a sense of silence and solitude to it.

My office on the other side (the top of the 1974 addition) is all sports, with signed baseballs, my contracts from professional baseball and of course a desk with computer.  I have a couple of photos there of the kids and my favorite picture of me from the Ossining Citizen Register in 1966.  I am leaping in a football game to block a pass from the opposing quarterback. I'm wearing my familiar #17 Jersey, the actual one hanging on the door next to the photo.  That number was my father's number at OHS and his football letter hangs over the door knob near the photo of me next to one of him coaching in the same school.  More books here, of course but still one gets an active feel in this room.

Each room, obviously, has meaning and a theme.  Each room gives you a certain 'feel' when you enter it or spend any time in it.

Outside is more of the same.   The Peace Garden, which is really just a patio in the back has a few Chinese calligraphy stones, lots of rocks, a large Buddha ('I'll just go out back and put it in the car,' I said to the guy I bought it from on Cape Cod.  'uh... he said, sure.  Let me know how you do... it's 600 pounds.'  Needed a little help on both ends).  But not much else.  Sitting there, though, you feel comfortable, relaxed.

I entertain a lot and never cease to be amazed by the number of people that comment about the 'feel' in the TH.  Everyone seems to enjoy coming here and people comment about it, not something I think we are all used to. I've actually had two people tell me they like my house more than any other place they've been in.  Makes me want to entertain more.  (Few people do entertain as often as I do however; in fact, except for my two neighbors who entertain me as I entertain them,  I'm never invited to people's homes for dinner or a beer... never.  Makes me wonder why they don't entertain more... wait, maybe they just don't entertain me.  Never mind.)

My cousin Suzie is the most mystical person I know.  She had trouble sleeping while visiting TH.  Said she felt the spirits.  I don't doubt her for a second, and in fact there is a ghost in the sitting room who moves the framed 13 star American flag all the time while I'm sitting there.  Just all of a sudden I'll feel 'whoosh' and the frame will have moved some.  Probably just something with air currents in the room, right.  Yes?  I'm looking for some confirmation here people.  Anyway Suzie likes my house, just doesn't like staying here.  (Me again?)

Why write all this?   Well as think about place I realize that people either have a sense of place or they don't.  I know several people that could live anywhere without much thought because place doesn't seem important to them. In fact, because they shall remain nameless, I can tell you they have ugly houses where nothing seems to match, nothing seems to speak to you while there.  The buildings are just buildings.  Nothing happens to your heart or mind when you are there.  They seem empty.  You know you're in doors while there.  But besides the fact you have the benefit of not being rained on, nothing much else commends the place to you.  They're empty.

And truth is...so are they.  Not buildings, so to speak, but empty.  When you are with these people they exude absolutely nothing but that they exist. You never see their heart or emotions.  You never feel their soul.  They are soul-less.  I feel sorry for them most of the time.  They have no passion. Very sad really.

Sometimes I can just sense whether a person has a sense of place, a soul.  The Hermitage has taught me to see soul in a building and I can see that soul in a person too...I think.  At least I think I can.

My soul is at home at TH, pure and simple.  I think everyone should look for a place where their soul can rest.   I think it would make people more interesting, more worth spending time with if they had a sense of place.

Then again... maybe not.  Some people I know would need a brain and personality transplant to be more interesting and worth spending time with. You know what I mean right?  Because you gotta believe Donald Trump has a nice house.