Tomorrow night we’re going to our coolest friends’ house. They’re intimidatingly hip and edgy and artsy. Their home is a converted grocery store in a historic neighborhood. They just returned from a stint in Brooklyn and tomorrow night are hosting a talent show. Jesse and I will be singing / strumming, and I will be reading a piece I’ve written. Tonight, while perusing my portfolio, I ran across this, which I posted on my blog when I was about fifteen years old. I think I’ll choose something a little edgier for my reading tomorrow, but this–this is the stuff of my simple soul.
While reading the much beloved Anne of the Island I came across the description of a most inviting little house, and was intreagued to think of what my own ‘house o’ dreams’, in the words of Anne Shirley, would look like, finding it in many ways similar to Patty’s Place, the aforementioned inviting residence. And so for days I have dreamt of my little house, and cannot now pass up the temptation to describe it to you, dear friends.
My house is tucked away beneath massive old maple and oak trees, leaves and pine needles giving the ground around it an amber glow of warmth and invitation. It has a pea gravel drive that creates a welcoming crunch upon coming home. At the end of the driveway is a small stone house embroidered with ivy of autumn shades. There are many windows, diamond paned with cream woodwork and deep sills, on which rest little lights, shining in silence and welcoming warmth. There is a front porch for congregation and conversation of community friends and neighbors. On the porch is a charming old swing that creeks melodiously and slowly as one swings in the breeze of delight offered by the good season. While swinging there one can hear above the creeking the crunching leaves where children play and where a chocolate labrador retriever runs enthusiastically, both giving thanks for the glorious weather on a day like today. The children laugh and sing, and all is well. When the moon begins to peek out and the sun is called to slumber, hunger calls, and children, friends and all step inside the oak door onto a dark wood floor and sun-gold walls accessorized with black and white photographs of smiling old friends and comforting faces and places and paintings done by friends and famous artists such as Katherine Elizabeth Crampton. The noise of a crackling fire beckons one to come and rest…even the dog, who choses the braided rug just in front of the fire next to children playing cards or board games, or reading aloud books such as The Hobbit. Life is good. When called into the kitchen one would find deep bright red walls and the smell of soup and home-baked bread. The countertop is a mosaic done by yours truly, who needs to learn how to do mosaics. The women end their kitchen conversation and story-telling with a final laugh, and all gather round hand in hand, rosy cheeked, wide eyed and grinning, and give thanks to the Good Lord, who has so richly blessed them.
The most important detail of my house o’ dreams is that it is indeed no house, but a home; aglow with love and laughter and blessings. A family washed in the water and cleansed by the blood; a family that prays together; a family that snuggles together; a family that plays together; a family that loves together. The bathrooms smell like baby lotion and the clothes are are clean and fresh. The pillows are always a little disheveled and there are always a few books missing from the shelves. The girls’ ponytails are always a little loose, and the boys’ shoes always find themselves missing, for this is a home, not a house. The kitchen is never perfectly clean because there is always someone baking. The beds are never untouched because there is always a child napping. And the house is never dark, for the Lord is always shining in it; here in my house o’ dreams. Life is good in this home, for God has richly blessed it, and its simply sweet.
Love from my house o’ dreams,
Mary Ann
