I wrote this post last April and forgot about it. I thought I’d share it now.
Our house went up for sale when the previous owner was moved into a nursing home. She had been in bad shape for awhile. Her bed was downstairs in the main room and it was obvious that she hadn’t been upstairs in years. It was also obvious that she hadn’t been able to clean the house or even take care of herself. The sale was arranged through her godson and the realtor warned us that she wouldn’t be able to provide us with any information about the house, despite the fact that she had lived here for 62 years. We knew she wouldn’t be around much longer.
She died last week and unfortunately, the obit ran in the paper after the funeral. I wish I had been able to attend. We’ve pieced together a small part of the story of the couple who lived here. They bought the house in 1947 for a few thousand dollars. Her husband was a “creative” handyman and after ripping out wall after wall, sawing through the floors and clearing out the attic and garage, we think we have uncovered most of his handiwork. He died in 1974 and the renovations and improvements stopped and from what was here when we bought the house, it seems the work stopped some time before that. The house became a time capsule.
We’re renovating and changing her house room by room. We try to save what we can. When we renovated upstairs, adding two closets and a bathroom, eliminating one very tiny bedroom, we built in an odd sized doorway to our bedroom so we could keep the original door. We uncovered the beautiful hardwood and gave it a good polish. We’ve kept the WWII momentos we found in the attic.
Thank you, Doll. Thank you for the beautiful garden. Thank you for the crazy knick-knacks. Thank you for years of memories that we are still uncovering.