ALL OF US AT THE SAME TIME
©Jo Dereske 2014Chapter 4
The Little House
Mike had built the little house forty years ago for my grandparents. There were no plans or drawings; it had evolved from images in his head, “even while he was building it,” Louise boasted. “He’s very ingenious.”
The bedroom windows – kitty-corner from each other to catch the breezes in summer – faced the orchard, the rising sun, the forest beyond and the path of the moon. Across from the bedroom was a room too small to be a bedroom, with good northern light: my grandmother’s sewing room.
In the center of the house, Mike portioned out the living room, with a wall of windows that faced the ravine, and off the front a small glassed-in porch warmed by ambient house heat. The kitchen was behind the living room, with another porch off it. Mike had installed clear oak flooring he salvaged from a defunct train depot, skillfully fitting pieces together until there were no cracks or gaps. He sanded the boards smooth and sliver-free. After all that work, a friend had said, shaking his head: “he covered it all with that god-awful linoleum to protect it.”
We were well-settled in the little house, furnishing it mainly from Louise’s antique shop. I encouraged Kipling to take the sewing room as his office, and I set up my computer in the small glassed-in front porch, where I could keep an eye on Louise and Mike’s house while I worked. The completed re-edit of my book was due to my editor New York in three weeks and I was behind in my self-imposed schedule, frankly bewildered by how long it was taking me.
1929 Mae and Phil got married at City Hall and we had a big party at Rialto afterward. I drank – oh my, did I! – but I feel better than in a long time. Crazy music. I danced until I was sick and danced some more. Ed brought me home but that’s all. I’m true to myself now. I hate men.
Slept too late and Mrs. B. banged on my door with a shoe! Read More