Return to Cork Haven

Because I watch the silly post-Edwardian soap opera known as Downton Abbey, in which all the opulent grand estates and posh London residences have names, it occurred to me the other day that my family’s home should have a name. It’s an unremarkable concrete block 3/2 that was built in 1977, but why shouldn’t it have a name?

I shared this thought with the mister, and without hesitation, he said, “Cork Haven,” which is perfect. So henceforth, I will refer to my home by its proper appellation. Just so you know.

I am back at Cork Haven after living out of a suitcase for a month while attending to my mom during her final illness. I just wanted to say how incredibly touched I was and continue to be by your kind condolences and the wisdom you shared here and here the other day. It comforted me when I sorely needed comforting, and I am more grateful than I can express.

With that said, please share the name of your abode, or create one now to share. The 1% may have all the money and grand estates, but names are free, so there’s no reason they should get to bogart that too.

Or talk about whatever, open-thread style.

[X-posted at Balloon Juice]

Posted by Betty Cracker on 02/27/14 at 12:04 PM • Permalink

Categories: BoozeMessylaneous

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There used to be a vogue for naming your retirement home things like “Dun Roamin’”—in fact I think it was mentioned in the movie Mame as a sign of middle class, babbit style, awfulness in its pseudo scots smarminess.

I can’t think of anything to name our place that wouldn’t be just as bad, so I think I’ll just keep thinking of it as “our house.”

We’ve made jokes about this for years—this and naming musical instruments.  We never could decide on a name, among the contenders were “Mosshaven” “Slugsscott” and “Rockington”!

Our homes (renting) have always been named for us, but the favorite I ever saw was in Shetland, down a backstreet in Lerwick: “Nae View.”

I think I’ve referred to it as “Casa Strangely” in blog-life, but when I’m feeling poetic, it’s my “fig tree(s) and vine(s)”. I have two fig trees and 6 grapevines. I live in a city rowhouse. My back yard is a little…crowded.

The only place I ever named was Toxic House: the rental that was so bad (no insulation, plumbing overflows, tons of other issues) it made me and our cats ill.

Not naming any other place until I buy my own home. Which means I’m unlikely to be naming a place. :P

Well, since when we bought our 10 acres of heaven 4 years ago there was already a 14’ x 67’ mobile home there, and we aren’t ready to build our dream house yet, we live in Chez Tacquie.

My husband’s family called their house the Bratcave.

“The Brewery” but that’s really mostly the garage, not the whole house.

“This Goddamned House” but I should probably stop calling it that.


We live in a cove in the eastern mountains in SW WV.

Above the front door there’s a large rock embedded in the earth, hanging over the steps up to the front door.

There’s a large black oak on top of the big boulder, with its roots leading back into the hillside. These roots are what keeps the boulder from rolling down the side of the hollow into the parking place.

So we call our home Falling Rock, because the rock is falling, just very very slowly right now. If that black oak ever gets blown over by a big gust of wind, Falling Rock will suddenly hit its natural speed, way way too fast to do anything about it.

I call my suburban slice of heaven “CatKnapp Farms”.

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