"The Big House"

That's the title of the book I'm reading... bought from the one-dollar clearance shelf at Half-Price Books (love that store!)......... "The Big House : A Century in the Life of an American Summer Home," by George Howe Colt. (Definitely a keeper... another book to add to my own bookshelves.)

You can't help but fall in love with the big old house in this true story, and I'm wondering what will happen at the end, because the author (a member of this house's family) has already wrote that the house must be sold because no one in the family can afford to keep it much longer. He tells you that very early on in the book, and all the while you're getting to know this home and the family members, you're hoping that a miracle happens so they don't have to sell.

My Aunt Dolly always says that a family makes a house a home, but the house takes on a life of its own and becomes part of the family as well. Knowing my grandparents' house as well as I do, and spending as much time there as I did in our own houses when I was a kid, I can truly understand that.

There wasn't a corner of grandma's house that didn't feel warm and cozy, and whether you were sleeping there over-night in one of the bedrooms on the third floor, or curling up with an old book in the hallway near grandpa's wine cellar, that big old house just wrapped its arms around you. And the kitchen...... always something cooking or baking in the kitchen on the main floor. During the holidays, the kitchen in the basement would be filled with cooking and baking as well, my aunts running up and down the stairs between the refrigerators and ovens. Grandma had a plate on her wall in the kitchen which said "No matter where I serve my guests, it seems they like my kitchen best." I wonder what happened to that plate... did Aunt Dolly remember to take it off the wall when she moved to Florida? I've thought of that plate from time to time, but haven't had the heart to ask her.

My grandmother's house was built, by grandpa, in 1922. Until the day my Aunt Dolly moved to Florida with my cousin S, no one but our family had ever lived in that house. Because it was so old, and not much was kept up to the new codes, it was impossible to sell it, so they rented it out. I don't know if anyone is in it at the moment. (Another question I don't want to ask Aunt Dolly.) In one way, I'm hoping that a family is indeed in that house and enjoying it, and in another way, I wish that it's standing empty, so the spirits of passed on family members can just stay there as if they had never left. That all sounds so crazy, I know. This book, The Big House, is just oozing through every inch of me and not letting go.

Our home in the hills here was built in 1907. It has a history of its own, beginning with the very first family who moved in right after it was built. Sometimes I would like to know more of its beginnings, and other times I just concentrate on the history we're making now. Unlike grandma's house, this home has been renovated and up to code, and the previous owners were careful to keep the integrity of the house intact. The sun shines through its original stained glass windows, our feet walk on its original wood flooring. We look out of windows that have been here since the house was built. Original stained glass transoms are above the second floor bathroom doors.

There are days when I imagine a full-skirted lady-of-the-house walking down the main staircase of this home, and maybe there was a bride or two along the years who entered the parlor after pausing near the curved banisters at the bottom of the front stairs. I'm sure the original man of this house never once walked down the back staircase that goes into the kitchen. The third floor of this house is an attic space that can easily be turned into a huge library..... all it needs is a nice wood floor, and book shelves all around the perimeter of the room. There are two stained glass windows on the third floor, and I am already imagining the sun filtering through those in the early mornings. I keep seeing that third floor library in my mind's eye. As it says in "The Art of Racing in The Rain:" ...that which you manifest is before you. I'm hoping the top floor library can soon be on our to-do list.

But I'm getting far away from the point....... or maybe not. The older a house is, the more of a life it enjoys. The people in it, taking care of it, visiting it.... I don't believe this all goes un-noticed by the house itself. You can actually see a certain sadness in homes that are neglected and untidy, and I'm guessing that the people living inside the untidy outsides are sad as well on their own insides. Everything is all connected, whether it's spiritually or emotionally or psychologically..... you are what you eat, you are how you live, you are what you believe.

I believe that we were meant to find this big old historic house on this property in the hills. We are its caretakers for now, and I hope for a good many years to come, until our last breaths. "What will we do when this house becomes too big for us?" my practical husband asked me once. I told him that we could move into the guest cottage and have someone else living here in the big house. "And who would that be?" he wanted to know. Take your pick.... we have lots of choices... cousins, and children of cousins, friends and children of friends.... anyone who understands Texas will understand and love this house.

My husband gave me that look...... the one that says I've gone beyond the edge of reason. I totally disagree.

That which you manifest is before you.