June 1st marked seven months for me here in Detroit. I never officially had a house warming party. I’ve hosted musicians and poets who needed to crash for a night. I’ve had conversations with a bevy of reporters, but never have I had a full blown event. This Monday rectified all of that. A good friend of mine, Corina, who’s been a solid fixture in my life since moving here, wanted to throw a fundraiser in order to get to a writing retreat in Portugal, where her family is from. Initially, she had thought to do the event in her apartment, but after a while I suggested doing it at the Brave New Home because then there would also be a yard and the ability to grill.
Home has always been more question than answer for me. Even when I was a kid, I had my home with my mom and dad and brother on Cape Cod, and then there was my biological father, Nana, my aunt, cousins in Roxbury. I spent more time on the Cape, went to school there, that’s where most of my friends were, but I also had access to a world separate from them, from the island mentality of Cape Codders.
I’m sluggish and winter is not quite over. Today I got the last piece of furniture I needed to feel like my house was completely furnished—a dining room table. If you’ve seen photos of the brave new home, then you know there’s not really a dining room, but a bench that comes off of my kitchen counter.