Wednesday, May 1, 2019

this is the story of a lucky house 

Our house is a pretty old lady- ordinary but rich in character. She’s the kind of charismatic elder one is actually drawn to, whose stories one is eager to hear and write down. If you saw her, you might say, "Dang, girl, you look good for 83 years old!" She’d smile and wiggle her butt and say that loving and welcoming people has kept her young at heart. She loves light, music, dogs, parties, and has her fair share of secrets.
It’s coming up on three years that my family moved in and I feel like I know her pretty well now, but I recently had the pleasure of meeting someone who knows her even better than I do- a retired professor living in Nebraska who wrote me a letter to ask if he could come visit. Dave’s dad bought our dear old girl in 1943 for $9,000 on a handshake and inhabited her for 50 years, so he had a lot to tell us when he visited for a couple of hours this past Saturday morning. The turtle he buried in the backyard, the chickens they had during the war, the swing set his dad made on an oil rig, the way he would sit on the radiator and watch his dad shave, the secret compartments, the way to escape from the upstairs bedroom, his little handprints in the concrete in the backyard- I hadn’t even ever noticed them.
One of the last things Dave said to us as he left was "This is a lucky house." And I agree. Sort of, not believing in luck so much as Divine favor. This old girl is one loved and lovely and special lady indeed.