Not Just an Old House

There's a special old house in North Little Rock that I've been going to for almost 60 years.  I never lived in it but it is part of my history.  I'm not really sure when it was actually built but I thought it was old when I first visited it many years ago.  Nevertheless, it was always comfortable and inviting and I liked it.

It was different from our house--the ceilings were really tall;  there were french doors separating two living areas;  there was a swinging wooden door to the kitchen.  The kitchen was big--big enough for a large table that served many a meal to many friends and family members.  There were just two bedrooms, but they were big.  There was a floor furnace in the hall and a gas heater in the wall of the only bathroom.    As was typical of the times, there was an attic fan that brought in the most wonderful spring breezes as well as the most humid sticky air from those awful hot days in Arkansas.

The attic fan, floor furnace, and bathroom heater are no longer there.   I still think there is no better way to warm up on a very cold day than to stand over a floor furnace for awhile.  It doesn't take long to take the chill off, for sure.

Through the years, the house underwent some upgrades and certainly had its share of upkeep, but the atmosphere of love and joy remained unchanged.  Company was always welcomed and still is whether it was adult friends (like my parents) or the three kids' pals.  The house has always been filled with stories and laughter, food and "practice parties."

One funny story that I remember so vividly was probably concocted at this house.  My mother and the mother of the family living in this house decided to dress up for Halloween to play a trick on another of their close friends.  Who knows what led to this, but they decided to make full-length flannel baby gowns and lacy bonnets for themselves to go Trick or Treating in.  They dressed in these long baby gowns and bonnets; and with baby bottles in hand, these two fun-loving friends headed to another crazy friend's house that dark and chilly Halloween.   I wasn't there to hear the laughter but I can imagine it even now.  Having fun and laughing were priorities around that house.

It still is.  My mother-in-law is good at having fun.  Yes, this house is where my sweet husband grew up with his wonderful sisters and genuinely loving, highly intelligent, and fun parents.  The humor from the family genes are alive and well in my husband--in fact, in his sisters and mother, too.

This is the house that I spent time in as I was growing up.  This is the house where I had to play with that "mean" little boy who I went to school and Sunday School with.  "Playing" with him generally resulted in fights, scratches, kicks, and tears.  But he was kinda cute.

Then there is the front porch.  This porch has been the picture-taking spot for years.  It used to be just their family of 5 on the porch.  Then it became the photo "booth" for every special occasion--a birthday, the prom date, the day of departure to college--you name it.  The porch saw it.   Even though the family grew and the faces on the porch sometimes changed, that porch was still able to handle everyone who was there on any day.

It became a ritual--all those "dreadful" family pictures.  Even now, we all act like we hate the proclamation made by someone:  "We're all together; let's take a picture" but it is the tradition.  The clan would slowly gather and the picture would finally be taken.  And second one, too, just for good measure.  These get-togethers at this house have been well documented to say the least. 

For sure, this house has seen and heard a lot and is treasured by us all--in laws, outlaws, children, grandchildren, and the greats.  It needs work, of course.  It needs a good cleaning-out of old treasures, but whose house doesn't.  The back shed that Papaw built is falling down.  It has to be dealt with immediately for insurance purposes;  it will probably be torn down.  We have accepted that fact.  It is hard for my sweet mother-in-law to accept it, though.  That building too has its memories.

I'm sure each piece of paper or flower, or drawing or card stuffed in a closet or drawer in the house and each wooden shelf or tool now full of cobwebs and dirt in the shed bring back treasured memories.  She will be 89 soon and likely a lot of the things stuck away in the closets have been around many, many years.  So I say, if she wants our help to get rid of things, great.  If she doesn't want to get rid of anything, that's okay too.  I respect her years.  I respect that she and her beloved husband raised three wonderful children in that house and it can be just as it is for awhile longer if she wants it that way.

It's a house full of love and joy.  It's her house and it's our history.  I respect that.  She is the spirit of the house that she managed and grew a family in.  She guided the paths of her children in that house; she provided joy, laughter, and hospitality in that house.  I respect that.  Like that house, she is grand and full of love and full of stories.   I respect her.  I am thankful for her.  I love that house.  I love her.



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