Opportunity. We rarely recognize its face at the moment we need to, and sometimes miss its lovely visage entirely.
Such was almost the case with the gothic manse and the elderly woman in a blood red jacket, sparse white hair tied back with a lime green kerchief. She had two ancient dogs on leashes; one so old he was now cinnamon and sugar instead of his youthful brown, the other a black and white rat terrier so drunken wobbly the wind was the only thing holding him up. The trio were visiting with a couple of children, the dogs sniffing the grass and trying valiantly to remain standing under the onslaught of pats from the kids.
Amber had first seen the house on our drive to the cemetery, and on the return trip she decided to drive around the block and take pictures of the two story red and brown house, now abandoned but not yet in great disrepair. She got a bit lost, and in driving around the blocks several times, I got carsick from being sloshed around in the tiny backseat. So when we finally pulled up and parked on the side of the street opposite the house, I was more intent on getting my head and stomach to stop swimming in circles than I was on what was happening across the street. Friends Taylor and Reya both had a better view and stronger constitutions, so they may have seen things differently, but I'll leave it to them to post their comments or corrections on this tale.
After finding her camera, Amber opens her door to get out. Which cues up Lady in Red (whom I came to dub "Elise"), who's been lingering on the sidewalk watching us with undisguised interest as we park and help Amber find her bag and camera.
"That's sure a pretty color for a car," I hear Elise say of Amber's small plum colored car. Which means she must have quite the voice, because she's across the street and I'm on the opposite side of the car, and I'm not having a bit of trouble hearing her. Amber is still at the side of the car, muttering about not talking to strangers, etc. She choses to not answer Elise, which I think is a shame, because I love older people and their stories of the past. I want to leap out of the car and let Elise know I'm interested in her and her dogs. But I also understand we are in a hurry; Taylor needs lunch and a tea party is coming soon, and all those other various last minute things we have to deal with before starting the long trip home. Elise might prove to be too talkative; better to avoid finding that out the hard way. My urge to leap is overcome, with regret.
But Amber is fascinated with the house; it's all she can talk about on the drive home. She would love to have floor plans, know more about this house, learn what architect designed that stunted gothic concoction which she feels would be perfect with her hearse, Miss Victoria, parked in front of it. (She's right, I can see it, too.) I'd just like to know why the remodeling process was not completed, why restoration was dropped.
We're a little tired and overloaded with images from our visit, so it's easy for us to miss the obvious. What I can't explain is why it took me two days to finally see it, but it did. Guess that my observation skills are getting a wee rusty.
But I couldn't stop thinking about the lady in the red jacket with her two tottering old dogs, and it suddenly occurred to me that if Amber had chosen to interact with her, Elise might have could been (as my grandma used to say) an excellent source of info about the house Amber loved so much.
Think about it; she was lingering on the sidewalk already; those dogs didn't look like they could walk a block, much less two; and the kids obviously knew her. Sounds like the "eyes, ears, and mouth" of the neighborhood to me. Perhaps she'd lived 2 houses down from the red house her entire life; or she went to her best friend's sweet sixteen party there; maybe dated the oldest son--or married him and made her home just down the street. We may never know. . . unless I make it a mission to go back there and lie in wait for her and those ancient dogs.
Such was almost the case with the gothic manse and the elderly woman in a blood red jacket, sparse white hair tied back with a lime green kerchief. She had two ancient dogs on leashes; one so old he was now cinnamon and sugar instead of his youthful brown, the other a black and white rat terrier so drunken wobbly the wind was the only thing holding him up. The trio were visiting with a couple of children, the dogs sniffing the grass and trying valiantly to remain standing under the onslaught of pats from the kids.
Amber had first seen the house on our drive to the cemetery, and on the return trip she decided to drive around the block and take pictures of the two story red and brown house, now abandoned but not yet in great disrepair. She got a bit lost, and in driving around the blocks several times, I got carsick from being sloshed around in the tiny backseat. So when we finally pulled up and parked on the side of the street opposite the house, I was more intent on getting my head and stomach to stop swimming in circles than I was on what was happening across the street. Friends Taylor and Reya both had a better view and stronger constitutions, so they may have seen things differently, but I'll leave it to them to post their comments or corrections on this tale.
After finding her camera, Amber opens her door to get out. Which cues up Lady in Red (whom I came to dub "Elise"), who's been lingering on the sidewalk watching us with undisguised interest as we park and help Amber find her bag and camera.
"That's sure a pretty color for a car," I hear Elise say of Amber's small plum colored car. Which means she must have quite the voice, because she's across the street and I'm on the opposite side of the car, and I'm not having a bit of trouble hearing her. Amber is still at the side of the car, muttering about not talking to strangers, etc. She choses to not answer Elise, which I think is a shame, because I love older people and their stories of the past. I want to leap out of the car and let Elise know I'm interested in her and her dogs. But I also understand we are in a hurry; Taylor needs lunch and a tea party is coming soon, and all those other various last minute things we have to deal with before starting the long trip home. Elise might prove to be too talkative; better to avoid finding that out the hard way. My urge to leap is overcome, with regret.
But Amber is fascinated with the house; it's all she can talk about on the drive home. She would love to have floor plans, know more about this house, learn what architect designed that stunted gothic concoction which she feels would be perfect with her hearse, Miss Victoria, parked in front of it. (She's right, I can see it, too.) I'd just like to know why the remodeling process was not completed, why restoration was dropped.
We're a little tired and overloaded with images from our visit, so it's easy for us to miss the obvious. What I can't explain is why it took me two days to finally see it, but it did. Guess that my observation skills are getting a wee rusty.
But I couldn't stop thinking about the lady in the red jacket with her two tottering old dogs, and it suddenly occurred to me that if Amber had chosen to interact with her, Elise might have could been (as my grandma used to say) an excellent source of info about the house Amber loved so much.
Think about it; she was lingering on the sidewalk already; those dogs didn't look like they could walk a block, much less two; and the kids obviously knew her. Sounds like the "eyes, ears, and mouth" of the neighborhood to me. Perhaps she'd lived 2 houses down from the red house her entire life; or she went to her best friend's sweet sixteen party there; maybe dated the oldest son--or married him and made her home just down the street. We may never know. . . unless I make it a mission to go back there and lie in wait for her and those ancient dogs.
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