Weekly Gratitude List

No longer forward nor behind I look in hope or fear; But, grateful, take the
good I find, The best of now and here.~John Greenleaf Whittier~

I am thankful for my home that I love so much. This is one of my favorite spots. When my house was young this space was a porch, but it is now enclosed with heat and tall windows.


Tell me what you are thankful for today. Send me a comment.

Rooted In Love

I’m sitting at the dining room table, thinking about the long crack in one of its legs, the result of time, temperature changes and family history. A junk shop find from the 1930’s, this cherry wood piece of furniture was once the prized possession of newlyweds, strangers to me. It might have been a stretch purchase for the Depression Era couple, but I got it for a steal at four hundred dollars, (side table included).

“Value is so relative,” remarks the real estate agent who is sitting across the table from my husband, as she flips through pages of local house sale data. At the moment, there are reasons to sell, and reasons to stay. We’re pulled back and forth emotionally.

Just like the table, the house we’re considering leaving is old and cracked in secret places, bought for a song eight years ago from an elderly couple. Back then it was just a charming building with a lot of potential, a bit musty, decorated with life-sized 30 year old silk plants, and over-packed with antiques. The walls told a story then, as they do now, except the chapter is new. Over the course of eight years, we have breathed new life into its hand-carved rafters through hard work, and new episodes of our life together have unfolded under its roof. We’ve filled the rooms with the fresh energy of little children and family traditions. In the second floor hallway I’ve hung a famous print called Photo Synthesis by Jerry Uelsmann. It’s a picture of a dilapidated building with giant tree roots. In a sense, that represents my house, but not visually, (thank goodness). I think my family has strengthened these old roots.

We fall in love with this small Queen Anne Victorian, despite the fact that it stands adjacent to a 200 year old cemetery and when we move in as newlyweds, the walls are padded. Every space, except for the bathrooms, is covered in fabric stapled over snow-white batting. Our friends joke that we can film a Brady Bunch reunion movie in the kitchen, because it is ugly, orange vintage. Either that or we can open a retro-style insane asylum, I think, pressing on the cushioned walls. Pulling down a nasty asbestos drop ceiling in the dining room, remnants of cloth electric wires, packs of Lucky Strike cigarettes, horse hair, plaster chunks, and a solitary silver spoon rain down on my head. I pick the spoon up off the heap of garbage. To my treasure-finding delight, it's engraved. On it is written, “Mental Diseases.” I cringe, as if the padded walls and dead neighbors weren’t creepy enough.

Lying in bed a few nights later, I’m staring at the ceiling, an ancient gathering of elaborate yellowed silk folds tucked under a medallion, and crystal chandelier. “The bedroom is my little jewel box,” the previous owner told me at the closing. I’m having involuntary visions of geriatric love under that dangling light fixture, and I can’t sleep. Finally drifting off, I dream that the ceiling, in its dusty decay, is actually the inside of a coffin. Disturbed by this nightmare, I start frantically peeling down the fabric everywhere; I need to find the bare bones of the original building. This 2 a.m. whim marks the beginning of the transformation of this building into my home. It starts a new chapter in the life of this house, which began with a simple farmer named Lyman in 1901, and continues with me and my family. Stairs are stripped of paint, walls repaired and repainted, floors redone. Scrubbed clean and refreshed by years of hard work, the stagnant old house is ready to grow again. Three children give it new wear and tear, and a reason to create more space.

My life has changed over the past eight years, and the transformation of this house into our beloved home reflects that growth. Now it’s my old friend. I’ve dug into its past and I’ve grown to love it at present. We’re sitting at the dining room table considering leaving my old friend at one of the worst economic times possible. “The reality is, in this market, you will not get what your house is worth,” says the real estate agent. I agree. We turned this space into a home filled with our love and memories. That’s priceless.

Princesses Use Sledge Hammers, Sometimes

My son is waving his arms in frustration. "No no, no! Princesses don't put together big girl beds. They're not builders! Boys are builders. Go in your kitchen and make me and daddy some ABC Pastina." I'll have the blue plate and daddy will have the red one." I'm about to step into this conversation and set my son straight when I hear the princess' reply. It's a happy-go-lucky, "Okay." Followed by, "Do you want some milk or soda with your Pastina?" This is shocking. Should I tell her not to take that kind of bossing from her brother? Maybe it's my fault. I'm letting her watch Walt Disney films too often. She's dressed like Snow White and her plastic princess shoes click-clack on the floor as she prepares a plastic lunch for the "men." Clutching an overloaded basket of laundry, I pause in the doorway to watch. As I peer over the dirty sock near my nose I wonder, maybe she's just like me.

Downstairs there is construction going on in the kitchen. Ned the contractor is motioning for me; he's ready to take down the outside wall. I was promised a sledge hammer and the opportunity to help, just like they let homeowners do on HGTV. Ned gives me directions before I start, in the odd language that only his crew and Tigger the tiger seems to understand. "Now, take the thing, swing hard and aim for the bottom of the hoo, hoo hooooo!!" He stands back. Far back. I swing the hammer as hard as I can, and one by one the century old beams dislodge and crack. I'm having so much fun smashing the wall; I'm guessing this might be more therapeutic than Yoga. Ned and his crew have paused to watch me, grinning. They're obviously getting a kick out of this scene. Everyone is standing around me cheering when I hit the new Sheetrock. "Oops, I say, dropping the tool." I feel like Lucy Ricardo
minus the red lipstick, house dress and heels. Ned pats me on the back. "Fugetaboutit! The "Rocker" will patch it up tomorrow. (He's referring to the amateur boxer who resembles Rocky, but actually is the Sheetrocker who comes on weekends, Ipod on belt, dancing, on stilts.) Ned congratulates me. "You took down the wall all by yourself!" I had such a blast I feel compelled to ask..."Ned, can I help you once in a while?" He pauses, eyebrows raised, "You wanna work with these ladies?" The contractor gestures to his all male crew, who mutter politely inaudible responses to his ribbing. "Sure," he laughs, not serious.

I resume sorting the laundry, thinking about roles and the differences between the sexes. My daughter is tugging on my shirt. "Mommy, brother is saying I can't help daddy put my big-girl bed together and I have to make lunch for them. He says I'm a girl." I bend down to her level. "You are a girl, but I don't think your brother is being fair."
"Brother is ri-dick-lous Mama, so I play a trick on him." My daughter's wearing her plastic mechanical wings that I bought at a garage sale from another industrious little girl. At the moment, she resembles a garden fairy gone bad."What did you do to him?" I'm wondering why I haven't heard protests from him yet. "I-don-know," she shrugs, grinning. Minutes later brother storms in holding a play napkin like evidence. He points, accusingly. "She blew her nose on this picnic napkin and put it on my pillow!"Little sister digs her hands into her hips, ready for a fight. "You were being mean and I am ANGRY! I'm a magical mermaid who can make mysteries happen! I'm going to marry a prince when I am big and his name WILL BE CARLOS!" Sister storms out, metallic wings flapping. Big brother and I are silent, surprised by her confident speech and interesting future plans. After all, she's only three years old. I'm thinking I want to be just like her when I grow up!