Old House

My love affair with big, old homes began as a child. I was friends with a girl who lived in a huge house built in the early 1900s. It was a Four-Square, which is probably why that is one of my favorite home styles. It sat on a hill with several other homes that were equally huge. Getting an invitation to a sleepover at her house was a frequent treat. I can still see it clearly in my mind; it had a huge front door.

I remember that when you rang the doorbell, the deep, rich sound of the bell sounded as though it was coming from somewhere deep within the house.

I remember the foyer was huge and rich with lots of oak woodwork. There was a floor to ceiling beveled glass mirror off to the right and an elaborate built-in hall tree with a bench just next to the mirror.

I remember that there was this cute little powder room under the stairs right off the portico. It had a portico!

I remember it had this huge open staircase with a landing. Giant, oak balustrauds. We used to pretend we were princesses gliding down those magnificent stairs.

I remember a laundry chute in one of the upstairs bathrooms. That fascinated me to no end. That you could drop laundry down a chute and it would end up in the basement two floors away was mind boggling to me.

I remember it had a back stairway. A servants stairway just off the kitchen.

I remember the big old attic and the creaky old stairs leading up to it. We spent lots of time hiding up there and scaring each other silly.

I remember it had something like 14 rooms. 14 rooms! Can you imagine? It was just a mansion to me.

Several years ago I collected historic postcards of my hometown. And I couldn't believe my luck when I stumbled upon this: That's the house. As it originally looked. When my friend lived in it it was painted a light yellow color and a screened-in porch had been added to the one side. I came across this the other day when I was sorting through stuff. And I framed it. Kinda weird maybe, but so many great memories of playing with my friend in this house. And it's what started me on my life-long love affair with these old homes.
The home isn't in her family anymore. They sold it when all their kids were grown and they downsized. Her mom owns the cutest store ever in my hometown. It's full of all kinds of cute shit, just like their home was. I need to get back and visit that store.
Anyway, the people who bought it from my friend's family did some painting and restoration on some of the woodwork. Then they put it up for sale about 6 or 7 years ago. I walked through it at an open house. I was afraid it wouldn't look as big as I remembered it, but I needn't have worried. It was as glorious, if not more so, as I remembered it being. Happy times! FF