Work of Heart
Kitchens may be the heart of the home in many houses, but when I was growing up in a 1950s bungalow in Erindale, it was our two home offices that I loved most.
The office in the basement was my Dad’s workplace. He was a freelance writer who worked at home, writing travel articles for the Toronto Star and other publications.
The main floor home office was my Mom’s domain. It was in the smallest bedroom and was where she, a stay-at-home Mom, did volunteer work for the Canadian Cancer Society.
Among many duties, she organized drivers to take cancer patients to their appointments, as well as helped with the daffodil campaign every April.
She was so busy she had her own telephone line installed. That phone was always ringing which drove us a little crazy, but decades later in 2002 Mississauga Mayor Hazel McCallion honoured Mom with a Certificate of Appreciation for 20 years of community service.
As a kid, I would bounce between my parents’ home offices, stuffing and licking envelopes for my Dad downstairs, and stapling things for my Mom upstairs. I loved the pens, pencils and paperwork, and spinning around on their office chairs to get dizzy.
They both had Underwood typewriters, but later Dad bought a snazzy Radio Shack TRS80 computer and Mom got a fancy IBM Selectric typewriter. They were so hip and tech savvy! (Years ago my Dad and I saw a TRS80 at the Smithsonian Institute in Washington, making both of us feel old.)
Dad passed away in 2000 at the age of 80. A few of his “Close to Home” columns for the Star were published after he died. That’s because one of the last things I had to do was go into his office, find the pre-written stories and photos on African Lion Safari and McMichael Art Gallery and send them in.
Perhaps since I am carrying on a legacy, my own home office continues to be the heart of the home. Whenever my two teenagers are looking for me they check there first – and I love it when they curl up on the chair and tell me about their day.
So now as a parent, I understand that even an office can be the heart of a home – mine is a cozy space filled with family photos, mementos and knick-knacks. A big window overlooks the pool and the afternoon sun pours into the room. Sometimes when the kids come in, they choose one of the photo albums from the bookshelf and leaf through it while we’re chatting. Other times they get straight to the point – they need help with their homework and it’s due tomorrow.
Maybe the heart of the home is simply where the best conversations are shared.
Where is your heart of the home?
