Standing catty corner to our house stands an even older one that is very distinctive. It is Victorian and grandiose and laden with wisteria each spring. The porch is more truthfully a 'verandah' and one can see it is well loved and holds many stories.
Steve had met the man who lives there, Mr. Coggins, on occasion and had told me that we should go visit him sometime. While working on our house Benjy and Kyle have also had occasion to talk to 'George' and had already learned many things that might benefit us in the repairing and restoring of our home.
But yesterday I was given a treasure way more poignant than an AC hint or gardening tip.
I drove up in front of my house to find George and Benjamin deep in conversation. It was my first time to meet George and so we introduced ourselves. He told me how much he had thought of Steve and was so sad he had not been able to have us in his home, etc.
Then he started telling me about the woman who lived in my house, Helen Bass. 'She had a 'teacher personality, was a natural teacher, had no trouble telling people what she thought.' He told me how the man at the end of the street liked to cook and how he would stop at Helen's house, drop off something he had prepared and then head over to George and Betty's house.
I asked if Helen Bass had been married and he said, "Yes, it was odd, she was married only a short time and then he died." He rambled on and then began to talk about the wedding present that Helen's husband had given her. "Yes, her husband gave her this kitchen cupboard for a wedding present. Such fine carpentry work, neat little drawers for things, beautiful wood. It had a rolled type desk like thing...." At this point I stopped him and asked him to come inside and see the piece of furniture we have in our kitchen.
"Why yes, that is it. I think it might be sitting in the same spot, or maybe it was here, before this bathroom was put in. What kind of wood do you think that is? Walnut? " I said I thought it was cherry.
"Yes, yes, cherry. Now the funny thing is that Helen never liked that present. She hated to cook and could not believe he had given her that as a gift. She never told her husband when he was alive, but when he died, she talked about it!"
Stirred and softening inside, I told George (and Benjamin plus his friend Kenny, who had followed us indoors for the story and can now testify that I am not exaggerating) about the day that Steve and I and the girls attended the estate sale at the house at the end of the street. About how I saw this piece and longed for it. Of how we measured it and went back and forth to see if it would fit in our open spot in our kitchen. Of how extravagant it seemed at the time to purchase it. About how we carried it on a dolly down the street. About how much I use it and enjoy all the compartments, the perfect spot to knead bread and place for all our baking things, oils and spices. About how I never notice mice anywhere else in our house, but sometimes I will see evidence in a drawer and will have to move everything to another drawer and leave some poison for a while.
Steve and I bought only this one piece of furniture together. One whose story was hidden and preserved for me until August 20 in the early afternoon.
This story will nourish and surprise me for months and years. I know I will end up telling it so many times that my children will likely put up their fingers to indicate how many times they've heard it, their way of gently telling me that they just can't listen one more time.
We really do live by gifts and George and Highland Avenue and the guys restoring my house and my kitchen cupboard and 28th Place South and the life and death and continuation of Steve's life feel almost like opulence at times. Too much. More.