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Array
(
[sid] => 21184
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => MY HOUSE OF REGAL SPLENDOR
[time] => 2003-07-29 06:05:00
[hometext] => Do house tell stories? This one does!
[bodytext] => I saw the house by the side of a creek. I've always wanted to know..... Do houses tell stories? Do they speak? I saw this house by the side of a creek. A river behind it. With woods so dense, 'Twas hard to find or seek. A mailbox attached to the fence near it's lane, and as I approached, it spoke once,and then spoke once again. "Come sit on my steps, close to my floor." Surprised I was not! Seems so natural somehow I'd always wondered if houses were alive? If they could speak? Tell us how they'd survived? A closer look allowed me to see.... She stood in "mourning." Her gables hung low, beside a huge weeping willow tree. She was regal in design. Three stories was her height. The third story was a loft, with a captain's deck. It's banister was hanging, it was a total wreck! Her foundation was rock. Cracked with age and years of wear! I noticed one wall had a huge gab, preparing to tear. Stones had been thrown through every wondow pane. How could anyone be so unkind? Those were her eye! She was now , also blind! My heart ached as I surveyed her demise. How long has she endured? Standing in unmovable darkness, without care, without eyes? Her door was ajar as she welcomed me to go through. I could see a large room, beneath a "strewn mess!" A beautiful inlaid hardwood floor. A wondrous "Ballroom" no less. A closer look and to the left, stood a splendid hearth. Handmade of foreign rock, Inlaid with black gold. "Right here," She said.... Was a story, that had to be told! Her Master's little boy, His first born son, his heir. They called him, "Terrance," and she laughed and said, "He was named right, 'cause he was a 'Holy terror!'" "Everyone thought he was napping, Everyone," she said, "But me! I knew he was out of bed, and running free! "I could see him from my back window pane. Running toward the river. It was spring, and the banks weren't tall. I watched in horror, as I saw him fall! She said, "I saw it all! Our little Terrance was only 4, Our neighbor down river, found his little body washed ashore!" "It was here by the fireplace, Here, near my heart (hearth) They carefully wrapped him in a blanket, and laid him near the fire. Then they dressed him in his 'Sunday Best' and laid out his little body on my hand-carved "set-tea." She then began to sob, I heard her rafters quake..... Then slowly she gained her composure, and said, "In this my ballroom, close to to my heart, is where they held his wake." "But," she said, "This room had good memories too." She had another story to relate. "Little Janie, or Janelle was her name. She was born with a crooked foot. But I knew her destiny was bound to be fame! She wanted to be a dancer. So, she danced on my ballroom floor. She stood, and fell. She danced, and fell some more. It was I, that encouraged her, to endure with each fall. And it was I, that was there. When she danced at her "Coming Out Ball!" "And when she was grown, off to New York City she sped. Straight to the Metropolitan Ballet. She couldn't be a ballerina, so, she taught others how to dance. One of her pupils, Oh, I can't remember her name, Became very famous, and lives in Spain! This wonderful old house, Like all of us, forgets sometimes. And when she does, She's as funny as a house can be. She then exclaims, "Oh, I've got 'bats in my belfrey!" I love to hear her laugh. She laughs from wall to wall. I simply had to ask the question, I tried to approach it very delicately too. I said, "We girls are sensitive, About telling our age, are you?" She said, "Oh, My No! I remember it well when I was born,'er built. 'Twas the year of the 'Little Big Horn Massacre," no too far from here. My Master replaced that General Custer, whom the Indians killed, 1876 was the year!" Now, I was counting in my head, and thinking, "it's better left unsaid," She was 127 years old. I didn't want to hurt her feelings, So I never told! Through a large French door. She guided me into her kitchen. She corrected me, and said, "This is my bosom," This is where she held her family so dear.... Her bosom was also where she fed her guests. Both far and near. She said, "In my bosom, I always offered "Brunch." Sometimes there were Indians, Sometimes there were soldiers, And, sometimes I even had famous folk. Like one time I served "Buffalo Bill" lunch! That's when I saw the huge oak table, so still. She said, "There's quite story behind this one, Still down if you will." "I have a younger sister back East. She's much younger than me. She was born, 'er built as school house you see. She helped teach the young and old, insider her protective arms 'er walls. It was around this very table, that she taught all of her fold. She even taught that famous Author, Oh, you know, what's his name? Oh, yes, I remember now, It was Mark Twain!" I was really impressed with her sink. A long handled pump brought water from the well. In her day that was really "swell!" Next to her sink was a big pot bellied stove. Waiting to serve, it stood at attention. with hope of some day, being replaced with man's new invention! Out back off the kitchen 'er "bosom", I mean. A large pantry with hand made shelves. Down her back stairs I saw a big plot of land. In my mind's eye a "Garden Divine!" I then saw the "outhouse," as she motioned me inside. There was an old fashioned bathtub with legs, a large sink, and commode. It had a large box just above it, One pull of the chain and water flows, flushes the toilet, and down she goes! "Pretty fancy," I say, "Especially for your day!" She answered me and said, "Worked just fine, until it froze, then out to the outhouse, everyone goes!" Down a hallway and to the right. A massive staircase comes into sight. Hard Maple, and all hand carved. 'Twas plain to see, this was some artist's "delight!' "This is another conversation piece," she said. "My staircase, and oak table came by cover wagon.over the "Oregon Trail." My Master brought the table, when they closed down my sister, and had a big sale." "The staircase was carved, especially for my Master, by a dear friend from Tennessee. It took him five years, and much love. He gave it to him as a present, absolutely free!" As I stepped upon the staircase, It creaked as I started up. When I was near the top, I could see four doors. She then explained their sequence, as I moved over her floors. She said, "On the left was my Master's bedroom," The other three were down a long hall. The first we came to was Terrance's. She said, "No one had ever slept in his bed, at all!" The second door was little Janie's room. Her wallpaper was still in tact. It was "Dancing Ballerinas," to be exact! The third bedroom seemed such a mystery, But when I entered, it appeared to be well "worn." I asked, "What is it's history?" "Well," she said, "After little Terrance's death, no more children were ever born. You see, My Mistress never healed, but became too forlorn. This was her bedroom, where she came to "hide-a-way!" I tried my best to cheer her. I even got birds to land on her window sill. I lulled her to sleep when the wind blew. But she had lost all of her joy, and her desire to live. She died in this room, She gave all that she could give!" "And your Master,?" I asked. "He soon grew old, and most of his friends died, Many of them lost their wives too. He listened to me, though, while he still lived. We tried to top each other's stories. Some good, some bad. Then one day here, near my heart. He closed his eyes, to depart." "And Janelle?" I asked. "She never came back to me, Not even to see her parents, or her old weeping willow tree. Too many sad memories here, you see." I inquired, "Is there no one to care for you?" Her sad answer nearly broke my heart. She said, "Who would want an old house like me?" I pondered over her question, and then I told her, "I was going to go see?" Now don't you worry, I will return as fast as can be!" The Banker said that I was being foolish, My Attorney said, "have you lost your mind?" "That's the oldest old house. A better one you could find!" Well, I did return and, we lowered her ceilings. Replaced all her eyes (window panes) Fixed her foundation, and her roof doesn't leak anymore, when it rains! We "spruced-up" her bosom. with the new appliances we bought. Reinforced her attic, and she began to laugh a lot! She is now known as "The House of Regal Splendor!" Then we made her a "Bed and Breakfast!" We filled her halls with laughter of children, and wonderful guests galore. Everyone remarked, "How happy they were, when they walked through her door!" I'm 90 years young now. We've been "bosom buddies" for 25. I'm so glad I bought her, And kept her alive! I never wander too far away from her lane. I promised her I would never leave her alone again. She never stopped telling me stories. There's a new one every day. And in my will,. in great big red letters, it says, 'THE DAY I DIE, THEY WILL DISASSEMBLE HER...... AND CAREFULLY CARRY HER AWAY!" Created by Cheri Cam LeBren For my children January 2003 I love old houses, and had always wanted to write a poem about them speaking....this poem was locked in my heart for over 40 years. I cried after creating her....she had suddenly become alive...and was my new dear friend. Oh, just think of the stories houses could tell us....or on a second thought.....maybe it's a good thing they can't speak! *smiles* [comments] => 5 [counter] => 151 [topic] => 31 [informant] => lovingcritters [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => StoryPoetry )
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