Century-Old Stories

The thought of inviting someone over used to make me cringe. To see my walls half done, and all undone? No way will I be comfortable showing off cracked plaster and ancient lathe.

This past weekend I put my pride aside and we had a party celebrating our progress. We decided to call it our mid-renovation celebration! The invitation warned of the cracked plaster and unfinished decorating and still-not-unpacked boxes.

I should have been prepared for the response.

I should have known, based upon the response from those who have already visited. Granted, they were close relatives, but still, they all had such good things to say. They all supported us in our efforts, telling us that they realized these things would take time.

Btu I didn’t listen closely enough to what they REALLY said. I did, however, hear it this weekend.

People love our house because it reminds them of something. We had nearly 30 people visit, and nearly all noted that the house reminded them of a house they had lived in at one time, a house they had restored, a house that their parents live(d) in, a house where their grandparents live(d). What attracted me to the house was that it told a story. Every scratch in the wood floors was a place where a child dropped a toy, every crack on the wall was a nail pounded in to hold that perfect picture. Each stain on the kitchen floor was probably marked by the cook’s cursing and the dog’s cheering. And all of those things over 80 years.

I am sad that I didn’t realize sooner that everyone else can appreciate the story. Not only that, but most of them contributed to the story in someone else’s house, and remember.