My dream house

 

Maybe something like this?

My dream house is literally that—a house that came to me in a dream. I thought I had gotten over house longing years ago, especially since I’m so happy in my cottage. But there it was, a memory so vivid it has been with me all day. Lewis Bundock and I were doing a walk-through, talking paint colors and wallpaper—yes, wallpaper. Lewis is the wonderful contractor who kept my old house updated and working well for over twenty-five years but retired during the pandemic. He’s still available to me for telephone consultation, but I doubt he’d undertake the renovations in my dream.

The house wa a red brick with a roofed front porch—not craftsman but not quite territorial either. I was focused on the interior. The front door opened into a huge entryway, much of it floored with Saltillo tile and the rest, inexplicably, in white shag carpet. The previous owner had left a few pieces of furniture, including an old sofa. From this entry, a long hall bisected the house, with countless rooms on either side—I lost count of how many, but it exceeded a reasonable number.

Several were bedrooms, and most still held antique bedsteads with elaborate Victorian headboards. One was a young girl’s room—her mother had found wall a Honduran fabric for wall cover, but Lewis pronounced it too frail and transparent. No coincidence, I had been talking late the night before to one of Jordan’s friends who has a young teen daughter.

The kitchen was my particular delight. It had lots of white cabinets, floor to ceiling, and we decided to paper it with a pattern of white background and some medium blue something—to match my Blue Willow china. There was a living room, with some furniture, a dining room which I decreed needed wainscoting painted a pale hue like celery. The hall walls would also have the wainscoting. At the back on the left side, was a room I thought would make a wonderful sitting room/library (I apparently wasn’t taking in account the fact that I live alone and have no need for a library/sitting room, although I knew several of the bedrooms were for guests.) Next to this den, was a small room, with windows—perfect for my office.

One problem, there was no bathroom, and Lewis and I differed over which room should be a bathroom. He wanted to use my sitting room/library, but I resisted. I didn’t want my office to open into the bathroom. I’m not sure we ever decided on a room but wherever it was, the walls would be tiled to chest height, with wallpaper above—this ivory, with scattered ferns (I think sister-in-law Lisa had that in her guest bath when they lived in Kingwood but I just read how only Boomers have such wallpaper—and I’m too old to be a boomer!).

The dream ends there, but I wanted to write it down while it was still so clear. I was dreaming about the house when Soph wakened me about six this morning for her breakfast. I fed her and went right back to bed and into the same dream. Last night’s dreams had me teaching again—not nearly as pleasant.

In other news of no note, about three weeks ago I lost my house keys. Went to the nursery and Trader Joe’s with Mary one morning, and when we got back to the cottage, I could not find my keys. We searched my purse several times, Mary searched her car, I spent days calling the nursery and Trader’s. No luck. I had new keys made, had to have a technician out to replace the key fob for the security system.

Yesterday Mary found the keys deep in a pocket of a purse she rarely uses. As Jordan often does, she told me to head for the car and she’d take care of locking the door—and then she inadvertently slipped the keys into her purse instead of mine! Still nice to know they’re not floating out there someplace, even though they didn’t have any identification on them.

In other inconsequential news, I had dinner with friends the other night to celebrate one’s birthday which happened September 1^st. But late as we were, Kathie, the birthday girl, remembered she hadn’t given me a present for my July birthday, so she presented me with the heaviest present I’ve ever gotten: a cast iron cornbread pan which makes cornbread not in the shape of ears of corn (like my mom had) but in the shape of saguaro cactus. Getting those out of the pan intact will be a real trick. Although Kathie is an inveterate garage sale shopper, this pan appears new, and I will have to season it if I hope to get anything more than crumbs out of it. I did test today, and it fits in my toaster oven.

And that, friends, is the extent of my news on this sleepy Sunday evening. Jean just came for supper, and we dined in the main house, so she could see Christian’s all-out Halloween decorations. A pleasant evening.

And a nostalgic picture just because I thought it was so cute when it popped up onmy computer today. 

A boy and my dog

A day of ups and downs

 

Last year's mums
I hope this year they will be as spectacular.

Today I read a post from a friend who was busy planting bulbs for spring in the garden in a house new to her, and I felt a bit guilty that I don’t do my own gardening. On the other hand, if I got down to dig in the dirt, I might never get up again. So mine is a compromise. And it made me happy today when the yard guys came to plant a row of gorgeous mums, already partly in bloom, in front of the deck.

I may have told this story before, but in summer they plant pentas in front of the deck, and most years they are glorious, about three feet tall with profuse color. This year, with the heat, they really suffered, despite Jordans watering. Some in the middle died, others maybe grew to a foot, but there were no blooms--none. One day when John Filarowicz, who owns the lawn service, came by he said they were the most pitiful pentas he’d yet seen. Just as I was about to say, “Gee, thanks,” he added insult to injury and said, “I feel like an oncologist delivering bad news.” So today the pentas are gone. The one mum on the end closest to me—naturally the one I see first—has a big dent in the top, like maybe something hit it. At first, I was disturbed, thinking the asymmetry would bother me all winter, but then I remembered the Zen concept of wabi sabi—the beauty of imperfect things. So now that mum will be my favorite

The guys also replaced the saddest decorative grasses I’ve ever seen. They were in two beds at the foot of the deck stairs and by the gate. For a couple of years I had lovely native grasses in those beds that grew to a good height, and when the wind blew, they danced. I loved to watch them. Then, for some inexplicable reason, they died. We replaced them with other varieties twice, but nothing took hold. The latest ones remained sparse, drooping on the ground. John was as puzzled as I was. So now we have native plants, though tonight the only impressive thing is one prickly pear. The other plants are low to the ground. Christian complained it is not what he expected—he wanted the plants more crowded. I explained they will spread as they take hold and grow—he’s a big gardener and should know that. So now of course I’m worried about the new plants but having the mums is a real “up” for me.

The down is literally a down. For only the second time in five years since my drastic hip surgery, I fell. Neither time was due to the hip nor weakness nor anything associated with the surgery. The first time I fell asleep on the commode in the middle of the night and took a header onto the bathroom floor. Luckily I was able to get myself up, take a couple of aspirin, and go back to sleep.

Today I was leaving my desk, holding on to the walker, when my foot caught in the cord to the foot massage machine that lives under my desk. Somehow the cord had worked its way to the front, where it does not belong. I actually thought I handled the whole thing gracefully. I held on to the walker and simply went down on my knees—ouch! Collected myself and sat cross-legged next to the walker. I considered getting up but decided calling for help was the better part of wisdom. Jordan was home, came out, and helped me get on my knees and over to my desk chair, which is more stable than the walker. I pulled myself into a crouching position and seemed stuck, so she had the idea to put the walker under my bottom. While she was trying to do that, I pulled myself to a standing position. Proud? I guess so. And not hurt, though my knees were a bit tender. I do admit I was a bit shaken.

I’ve always told myself that if I fell and really needed help, Sophie would go to the back door of the main house and bark like mad until someone came to see what the matter was. Know what she did? She took one look at me on the floor and turned and went into the security of her cage. Kind of a “I’m not messing with that” attitude.

Other than that, it was a good day. I wrote a scene in the new Irene book, and it turned out to be one of those that just writes itself. The words kept coming, and the direction things took surprised me. But I had my daily thousand words before I knew it. And felt good about them. A technician from the security company came to program a new key fob for me, and I attached a house key to a huge leather shape of Texas key chain I have. Hard to lose that one. And Jordan and I tried a new recipe for taco salad tonight—pretty good. I decided the lime juice made the difference in the dressing.

Our new taco salad
with a sour cream/salsa/lime dressing

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So now I’ve got an evening to read. Sweet dreams, y’all.