Pop 89: Define: Home

By Madonna Hamel

Throughout history, we have used words against each other, dickering with aplomb to get away with murder. Or we don’t bother to define our terms because “you know what I mean.” But do we? We each see the world through different lenses.

As a writer, it is my job to be clear. And to spot the ways language gets misused, abused, and meanings muddied. Words can get “word-jacked” - a term I made up to mean we can change meanings to fit our agendas. We can mess with words, rob them of their potency and spirit. Imply agreements never intended.

Powerful words - like “divine” - can be tamed by pop culture, robbing us of a sense of awe. Enticing words like “celebrity” can be elevated to heights of adoration that, when examined closely, stand on flimsy pedestals easily toppled by the winds of trend.

Take the word “cede,” meaning to give over. But in order to cede, one has to own what one is ceding. If you don’t own land, for example, you can’t cede it. It is not yours to cede. So when Indigenous people signed treaties ceding territory to newcomers who lived according to a world-view that defined “progress,” “success,” and “civilization” in terms of ownership, they assumed they were not giving over but “sharing.” They understood they were making an agreement to share land that was under everyone’s stewardship. Through tricks with language, we led them to believe we were all in this new adventure together.

Then there’s that lovely word “home.” For me, it conjures up images of a hearth, a place to lay one’s head. A refuge and a sanctuary with warm blankets and good books for long, cold winters. Some may argue this is not, in fact, my home because it is an apartment and I only rent. I am reminded of how this philosophy was “explained” to the Indigenous of the Territory: you cannot call this home; you do not own it.

Perhaps there is no idea as bewildering the idea of “home”; it conjures up notions of “inside” and “outside,” “us” and “them.” As newcomers, it would have been a good idea to consider what “home” meant to “them” - those whose stories are bound to the land.

Ironically, Christians, who arrived to claim the land as their own, belong to a faith whose leader spoke not only of the land but on the land. His parables involved fields of lilies, meadows of sheep and oceans of fish. And he “owned” none of them. He moved through them. He kept his burden light.

Is it my Catholic cultural heritage, Metis blood, or just the choice to live frugally that has me averting ownership? Oh, wait, of course, it’s because I’m an artist - I can’t afford a house or land!

But, in the past, I could. And chose not to. In Victoria, my boss told me he knew of a piece of land I could easily afford. But I preferred my bachelor in an old boarding house that backed up against Craigdarroch Castle, the music conservatory. In the evening, I could hear the pianos and violins practicing, their notes rising and blending in the warm caragana-scented air.

Then, in Quebec City, where I worked in broadcasting, my landlord offered to sell me the suite I lived in. My upstairs neighbour was Denis, my ex-boyfriend and guitarist in my band. He was also a remarkable chef. Next door to us lived our drummer. We had an agreement that Denis would cook suppers if we supplied the groceries. Every afternoon we would practice, eat a sumptuous meal, then return home to the privacy of our rooms. If I bought my apartment, Denis would have had to move out. I said no thanks.

There are as many ways to live as there are people. We could be less judgemental in a world that is increasingly pushing the less fortunate to the periphery of our towns and communities. And, we need to question why the definition of home should rest in the hands of real estate developers who develop first, and ask questions later.

Here are my questions: Are we afraid to admit, as if it’s some great personal failing, that we haven’t made enough money to become what is presently defined as a “home-owner”? What is enough money? And who decides? What defines home?

I have never wanted to own property. I have made a choice to live simply and not get caught up in a lifestyle that would require me to work harder and harder at jobs that are not vocational. “Vocation” comes from the Latin “vocare”, meaning “to call.” I believe we all have a calling - to use our specific talents and gifts, not to own a luxury condo or impressive monster house that puts us deep in debt and far from those talents. A “vocational,” for me, describes somebody who takes their work to heart, not just to the bank.

In looking at the deeper implication of the word affordable, I realize, it means living within my means, debt-free. I live alone. I scaled down my life to a level where it is possible to write. My “home” may not look like much to others, the couch being a little old and covered in a worn quilt. The bookshelves bowing in the middle. The coffee cups chipped. But not everybody needs new kitchen cabinets or a big-screen tv to feel at home. I am not “housed.” Cold and distancing terms like “low-income housing” do not even begin to explain a simple, soulful home.

I have been informed my home is up for sale. I will have to move again. Until now, I have benefited from the humane practice that asked only that I pay a percentage of my income as rent every year. But now, Saskatchewan, home of universal medical care, has decided the practice is not profitable. But wherever I go, I will make myself at home.