In my effort to appease my Fitbit by getting in 10,000 steps a day, I have come to appreciate my home more. I despise the summer heat. I cannot overstate my bordering-on-hatred dislike of heat and humidity. So, to get my 10,000 daily steps, I walk laps around my house. It is exactly 30 steps through the kitchen, dining room, living room and den. That is 333 1/3 laps. That many passes-by makes that which is so familiar seem new.
Our house was built in 1960, so it is old, but not that charming Victorian-Era-gingerbread-work-laden -porch kind of old, but more in that 1960's Ranch-they-all-look-alike kind of old. When I think of its construction, my mind often wanders to the childhood VBS song, "The Wise Man Built His House Upon the Rock." The problem is, I fear that our builder was a bit like the foolish man in the song. We live on shifting sand, or alluvial soil; something less dependable than rock. This creates interesting changes in the interior. Cracks open and close depending on how dry the weather is. We have to use a crowbar to open the front door which is quite convenient when solicitors happen by for I can truthfully tell them that I cannot open the door. Interior doors sometimes will stay closed, in fact there have been occasions when one bathroom door would stay closed so well that it could not be opened from inside the room, which is not terribly convenient, especially for guests. It is only moderately more convenient for them when we tell them if they prefer not taking a chance that some one might walk in on them, it would be wise for them to pull out the top drawer in the vanity to prevent any unwanted entrances.
As I walk my laps, I do not really focus on those things. Instead, I see things like all the windows that go to the floor and the rainbows dancing across the walls and furniture created by prisms hanging in those windows. I see these rainbows in a different, fuller way because of my friend Joan who taught her children that they were "prism people," casting rainbows over all they meet.
I love the little vignette in the foyer; a grand word for a rather tiny space right inside the front door,
but, which of course cannot be accessed by said door. There is a small round metal chippy table with 2 of the most uncomfortable metal chairs known to man. MP gave me that set as a thank you after she, Josh, and Simeon lived with us for a period of time before moving into their home. Hanging over that is a Paula Frizbe painting of a cake. I look at the painting and am reminded of a Christmas when
Mr. L and I agreed that we would not exchange gifts. There was no money for such. After the children had opened their packages, there was one left, hidden behind the tree. Mr. L. acted as though he was quite surprised at its presence. My name was on it. Puzzled, I opened it, and there was that painting; a painting that I had admired in my friend's home, and she secretly gave it to Mr. L. to give me. There is an old shutter in the corner with a pedestal in front of it. On the pedestal sits and ange, a gift from my mom. The walls are painted in bold yellow and aqua horizontal stripes. It brings me pleasure to enjoy the colors as I walk my laps.
In the living room there is a pillow that says, "Mellie and Fizzy-Established 2012; a gift from Marshall, Sheri, and Max. Because I cherish that position of Mellie, I dearly love that pillow. The
white sofa where the boys jump while I cheer, "pork chop, pork chop, greasy, greasy; we're gonna
jump up easy easy;" or "two bits, four bits, six bits a dollar, all for Sim and Max stand up and holler...yay!!!" On the main wall is an antique headboard and footboard. They were supposed to be crafted into a unique bench, but truth be told, if it was a bench then there would not be room for all the tables and chairs needed to accommodate the family and friends who decorate this home on Thanksgiving. There is the most exquisite chessboard designed and built by our son, and sitting on it are the figures brought back from Africa by our daughter. A yellow cabinet sporting a collection of Blue Mountain houses, most given to me by my dear Nancy. All these items and many others of o much value to me. If sold, they would not make me wealthy, but they make my life rich beyond measure.
The dining room wall, painted as if one was on a Victorian-Era-gingerbread work-laden porch brings me pleasure. My mind goes on a fanciful flight of that summer when my friend, Julie, became our Eldon as in the Murphy Brown series. She painted, we watched Rosie O'Donnell, we ate, and we looked at houses (found one) for her and her husband. It was a lovely time. As long as I live, I will
never paint over those walls. In the corner sits Paloma, a huge lamp that I turned into a candelabra. It belonged to the in-laws of a good friend, and when they moved to a nursing home, I was given the beautiful Italian woman lamp. I love her because I love my friend.
My kitchen is a plethora of color -red, aqua, lime green. There are shelves filled with salt and pepper shakers, collected over years. Many I bought myself, and many have been given to me. My sweet niece, Maclellan, has added so many charming sets to the collection. There is the T.P. Williams sign
that sat atop the mailbox where I lived from age 3 to age 22, when I married. Just that sign can conjure up memories of sledding, running down the hill to meet my daddy as he got off the bus coming home from work, the beautiful Mimosa trees on the corners of the front yard, my brother pogo-sticking up and down the street, all the dogs we had and loved, the decorations for every holiday that my mother meticulously arranged, and countless other memories.
The next, and last, room is the den. It too has a lot of color, prisms, rainbows. There is lots of red and yellow and green and aqua. Photographs of people and places I love cover the walls. The mantel was built by our son, the painting above it painted by our daughter, the fire screen made by Marshall of old barn wood adorned by a piece of architecture given to me by our son-in-law. On the wall above the sofa are plates painted by friends at my surprise 50th birthday party. A monogram picture of SWITZER with each letter a picture of some special thing in Sanibel that Sheri made. D.S., the sock monkey Mr. L. would not let me return when I discovered dirt on his face because he was afraid the stuffed monkey would be euthanized, sits in a child's rocking chair. At last, my hideous burgundy chairs are beautifully slipcovered in a lovely shade of red. There are always toys and books strewn willy nilly, and that bit of disorder brings me comfort and joy.
So, you see, it may look like I am simply walking laps around my house. Some might wonder how I stand the boredom of the sameness. What I am really doing, is strolling down memory lane, remembering-remembering places I have been, people I love, moments of great joy, some moments of deep sorrow. I walk with gratitude, knowing this is not my "dream" home, but also knowing that this is where many dreams have been dreamed, and where many dreams have come true. Every lap transforms the familiar into something new.
For today, I wish you joy in your home, 10,000 steps, and a break from the tyranny of 10,000 steps every now and then, and I wish you
Blessings
Please excuse typos, grammatical errors, weird soakings, and misspellings. I wrote this on my laptop, and it does not let me proofread easily.
No comments:
Post a Comment