Sometimes good things happen to good people.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010 at 4:22PM Take me, for example.
I've experienced my share of difficult times. I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I worked two jobs to get through college. I spent twelve years teaching public high school. I've had loved ones die suddenly, been through trying family times, and borrowed trouble from tomorrow when today's troubles were more than enough. Just like many of you.
And I've also turned around and seen the writing on the wall, the writing that was never apparent when I needed it to be, but that time and experience illuminated. Most often, the writing looked like an outstretched finger, marking a direction that I didn't want to take but did anyway, not knowing it was going to someday be for the better.
Yesterday was one of those days. One of those days when you feel like the universe coalesced into something good, something good for a good person.
Yesterday a realtor quietly slipped me the keys to the house I've been dreaming about for fifteen years -- a bright, inviting old house with gobs of natural light, hardwood floors, a yard just begging to be gardened, and the type of quirky charm that you just can't find in houses built after a certain time.
Sometimes good people do get to move back to their hometowns, open a yarn studio and buy a house five minutes from Grandma.
The purpose of this post is really two-fold: 1) to tell you that sometimes good things happen to good people. If you're about to give up hope, don't. If you spend all your time thinking you can't catch a break, stop. If you're borrowing too much trouble from tomorrow, knock it off. Let tomorrow worry about tomorrow.
I also want to tell you thank you.
Without all of you reading this and supporting my little endeavor by buying yarn from me, none of this would've happened.
Is this getting too mushy?
Here, I'll distract you with some pictures.
This is my new kitchen in my new old house as of today:
I ain't no fool, I've got three kids. It will never look this clean again, I know.
I should frame this picture and hang it on the kitchen wall or something.
But starting tonight, this kitchen is going to change. I can't abide by the beige walls, I just cannot. Even though the cabinets are brand new, they're going to be changed, too. The wreath on the right? It's going bye bye.
Here's another view:
My kids call these the secret stairs. They go up to what had to be the maid's bedroom once upon a time. (I've informed my boy that he is going to have to be the new maid. You sleep in the room, you clean the house. Right? Of course right.) On the right is the back entry way, which has a lovely coat area, with lots of hooks for handknit scarves, hats, and mittens. Of which we will need plenty living here in the frozen north.
At the top of the secret stairs is something I need your help with.
What is that little window? It goes into the maid's bedroom. The window appears to be original to the house -- the glass is old and wavy. If the window were for light in the hallway, why not put one at the top of the stairs? (It's an exterior wall, after all!)
Here's a view of the weird little window from inside the maid's room:
Why is this window here? I'm dying to know. Any ideas? There's also a fireplace in my unfinished basement (original to the house), but that's a story for another day.
My house has an extra room off the dining room that was probably a parlor at one time, but that we're going to use as a library. I can't tell you how happy this makes me. I love libraries.
I'm going to put a daybed in front of the windows, paint the room a deeper shade, deck it out in books, and spiff up this old fireplace:
Coal burning, at one time. I think it needs a more substantial mantel, don't you? Someday.
I can't wait to pass a winter Sunday snuggled in my handmade knitwear, reading a book on the daybed in my library.
While my children scrub the kitchen floor and prepare a small assortment of baked goods for my teatime.
The thing I love about this house is that we can enjoy it today as it is, and we'll be able to enjoy it more each year as we fix it up, stamp our personal (colorful) touches on it, work magic in the garden, and watch our babies grow. As they are wont to do all too quickly. I am certain that my youngest child was born about a year ago, and she informs me that she's three. How is this possible? Tell me.
What have we learned today?
1. Don't give up hope -- sometimes good things happen to good people.
2. You need warm clothes in Minnesota.
3. Y'all are the best peoples in the worlds. All of them.
4. Old houses are quirky. I intend to get quirkier with age, how about you? (A friend's mother said to me yesterday: "Just wait until you get old, and then you'll get a really weird sense of color -- you'll be painting your bathroom bright purple!" I did not tell her that I already intended to paint my bathroom dark pansy purple.)
5. Yarnista's son is her maid.
6. I hate beige. I am missing the beige part of my brain.
7. Children of all ages grow too quickly, and try to lie to their parents about their ages.
I will be sure and update you with more house pictures and on how my kitchen progresses in the next week. Move-in day is seven days away!
P.S. Thank you again for everything.
Reader Comments (45)
I just have to say I LOVE your house! I'm not a decorator, so I won't even begin to tell you what I think would look nice. But I love it. I just know there is going to be lots of love and joy there.
Wow, it looks so light and open. I do like the quirks and the library sounds divine!
Thank you for the encourageing words. As a person planning a sea change in my life, your good news is very encouraging to me. I am happy for you. Your place looks like it has wonderful potential -- once you rid yourself of the beige! I think that mantle could be beefed up entirely with color, too... You know what to do. You're the expert. :)
I love the house and would not dream of putting my two cents in on color because you know color better than anyone. Your house is beautiful but your descriptions are magnificent. I would venture to guess that your next career will be writing. Still missing you.
Glad you have found happiness.....but, the following quote---"I spent twelve years teaching public high school" makes it seem like that teaching was part of your hard times. I hope not. You were and are a great teacher and had a huge impact on the lives of many students.You are missed!!!! Looking forward to seeing the new house someday.