What I Learned From Two Houses

            Margaret, Jesse, Anny, Roger, and I walked around a lake high on a mountain yesterday. The Catskills have begun to turn somber, the riot of fall is nearly over, and black branches reached against a sky so pale blue it hardly had color at all. It smelled like pine needles and fall. 

High on a ledge looking down into the lake was a magnificent small house. It stood on solid white rock and was pale and natural, as if it was formed there like the white rock formations that tumbled into the lake, or the dwarf pine trees that grew around it. 

The house stood, boarded up, empty of anything but dust. Windows by the front door looked out into the woods and down the driveway. I peeked in a window by the there and saw a sweeping staircase of natural wood, a sunken living room. Dusty windows took up most of the lakeside wall of the house offering magnificent views of mountains and sky. No doubt if I stood in the living room, the quiet lake below would be spectacular.

Then I came home to host a meeting. One of my guests said, “How happy your house is.” People frequently say something like that. My house is full of color: an aqua living room, a deep red dining room, a pink office, a moss green bathroom, and bright yellow kitchen, make up the downstairs. I have family art and heirlooms, all over my walks, including the first Clarion Vulcanizing sign that my grandfather proudly hung above his business. My house smells like the cinnamon broom behind the front door, so guests won’t notice the cat box.

I have a collection of Blue Ridge plates that were hand painted by young women in the 1930’s to the 1950’s. The plates are mostly child-like flowers, yellow or blue, maroon and green, even a little purple. 

In my eyes that all goes together to make one warm hospitable statement, “Come on in! Glad to see you!” From the front yard, (see the picture at the top of this blog) to our own bright orange bedroom, we want you to smile when you get here. 

My house is open- armed. It doesn’t have a great view and it’s noisy because I live on a busy street. I can’t offer solitude or a mountain view, but you can take off your shoes and put your feet on the couch or even on the coffee table if it makes you comfortable.  

 If a house is a monument to the person who lives there, the lake house’s owner is cool, and correct and elegant. I hope my house and myself, are friendly, kind and welcoming. Come on in and have a cuppa coffee.