AoW Oct. 23

Your portfolio writing can be anything--any argument you want to make.  You can be inspired by a journal prompt, another class, something on Twitter, an AoW, or just your life.  This is a piece I wrote for a writing class two summers ago.  It was inspired by my love/hate relationship with my house--specifically the two outlets in my bedroom that have a window air conditioner, bedside lamp, baby monitor, two phone chargers, and a fan that all need to be plugged into them.  But that was only the inspiration--it became an argument about something else.

Read the piece.  In your journal, note stylistic techniques you like, rhetorical modes or appeals you notice, and any topics from your own life you might think of while reading.  Once you're done reading the whole piece, also pinpoint in your journal the claim (thesis), reasons, and warrants going on.

My House

by Kim Grissom

An old house is a beautiful thing.  Something with its own soul, its own personality, a rich history that gives it what they call character.  Many years ago I thought I’d want a new house—one with modern sleek lines, open floor plan, crazy huge kitchen.  All in a new section of town where everything was shiny and hip.  At some point I changed my mind about all of that.

I dreamed of a wide porch on the front where I could sit under a ceiling fan with a cup of coffee watching the neighborhood go by.  I wanted plain, wide trim and floors that creak, and established trees that throw long shadows over homes and yards.  I didn’t want to be in a subdivision—I wanted to be right in the thick of things.  Right where I could watch the goings-on of a community from my kitchen window while I wash dishes.

And I got it all.

I got the porch so deep I can always find a shaded seat even though it faces south.  There’s no ceiling fan, but there’s space for the blue baby swing that flies protected from rain and sun.  I got the trim and the creaky floors and shade and three blocks from the square.  I even got more:  windows in closets, built-ins in nearly every room, radiators.  I got steps that tell you someone’s on them, 43 windows that allow the breeze to keep the plaster-walled rooms cool and comfortable until it gets above 85 degrees outside.

I got a tiny bedroom, no bigger than any of the other bedrooms so it can’t really be called a master.  And it doesn’t have its own bathroom; it shares the only upstairs bathroom with two other bedrooms.  There’s a closeness to that.  The same kind of closeness of sleeping with the doors to those bedrooms open at night to allow the cross-breeze to keep us all comfortable.  There’s a different kind of family in that—not closing everyone off to sleep in privacy, but allowing the snores to wander into another room and to hear the swishing of a child turning over.

I got the detached garage.  One I have to scoop myself to in the winter. But also a cute bricked walkway through a miniature backyard, just big enough for a 9-pound dog (or a toddler) to run circles in.

I got tall ceilings, a small kitchen, clawfoot tubs, and knob and tube wiring.  I got only two outlets in my bedroom.

And what I love about all of it is the constant reminder of the way things used to be.  A more uncomfortable day, perhaps—no central air in July is certainly sweaty regardless of how many windows there are.  But a reminder of an age that wasn’t disposable.  Where houses were built to stand forever, where craftsmanship was valued, where you put your money in quality and usefulness.  Where homeowners didn’t settle for lower-quality building materials in order to pay for the top-of-the-line appliances and new furniture.  

A day where community mattered.  Where kids played outside and adults talked to neighbors from their porches.  Where people walked to work.

Do you know I have neighbors who drive 2 to 6 blocks to their job and back every day?  What would our great grandparents think of that?

What would they think of houses that only have windows in the front and back?  Of houses with no porches?  Only fenced-in yards with back decks hidden from the neighbors.  What would they say of people who don’t know their neighbors?  Who are afraid to let their children play outside without a fence to shield them from strangers’ eyes?

My house reminds me of the difference time has created.  It reminds me of the changes in our society and makes me yearn to take the old ways—at least some of them—back.  It reminds me that we shouldn’t get rid of the old just because it IS old.  We, too, should value quality.  Central AC is good—a great addition to an old house (if you can afford it).  But why can’t we learn from the old ways, before they had air conditioning? Why do we build houses that force us to keep the windows closed and run the AC merely because the pleasant temperature outside can’t find a way in?  Why do we drive ourselves and our children less than a mile to work or school when walking or biking would be almost as fast and far better for us? Why do we shut ourselves off from others when creating a neighborhood is a step toward a safer place for our children to play?

There is wisdom in my house.  It’s got wooden floors with nail heads poking up and cracked walls and breakers that trip at tiny things.  But it’s been around for 97 years and like most things that have survived that long, it could teach us a thing or two.

Instead of a 1-page reflection of this article/topic this week, write a 1-page journal in which you reflect on something in your life that you love or that bugs you or that you have a love/hate relationship with. Figure out something that you actually just want to write about and do so. It may end up to be inspiration for your own portfolio piece. =)