Right now heaven is spelled: this old house. It doesn't matter that we're only renting it for two weeks because I plan to treat the house like it is my own best Christmas present. Dutch gets all the credit for finding it - it's not only a short commute for him, it's crammed, floor to ceiling, with old books and artwork. Everything – and I do mean, everything – about it creaks: banisters and stairs, doorknobs and floors, the piano bench and dining chairs, and all three of the four mattresses I’ve tried. Even the gas burner squeaks hell-oo when you turn the little black knob. It’s like a small enchantment, having a conversation with one's place of residence. Unlike most human beings, the house picks up on even the subtlest cues – a tip-toe, a nocturnal change in position, a shift in weight from right foot to left. No matter how small the gesture, it always talks back. And sometimes – in the middle of the night, when it is shiftless, unable to sleep – the house talks to itself, creaking and sighing, and all that is required is that I lay where I am lying, and listen.
3 comments:
I love this. So poetic... :) I want a house with history!
This reminds me of our cabin in the White Mountains (which was my grandma's residence while growing up). There is nothing like a place that can use all 5 senses to communicate warmth and love!!
Ah, it is so true. And old things not only make you feel a part of something bigger than yourself, they are better at absorbing toddler prints. :)
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