History Lesson

Elliot and I went out for a bit with mom today, and as we were pulling up to the house there was a car parked crooked next to the tree on Osceola. We walked toward the house, and as we did three little old ladies slowly extracted themselves from the car and waved us down. "Can we talk to you for a minute? Are you the owners?"

I wondered if they were going to complain about the miserable state of my sidewalks or perhaps bring me to Jesus, but as it turned out, they just wanted take a little walk down the long road of memory.

The ladies were Sisters of the Sacred Heart; nuns, I guess. They were all three in their 80s, and one had been born in my house. She looked at the front hill, and said "Oh, that hill used to be so big! I remember it was such a big deal, that hill!" She was obviously delighted to just look at the front yard, so I invited them inside to see the house as it stands today.

Her family were the first owners, and she had lived here until she left at 21. When she walked up on the porch, she commented that it, too, was much larger in her memory, but that it was still lovely. I made my usual excuses about the puppy and toddler - that the house was a disaster, but they were welcome to come in if they liked. "Oh, I remember this room..." she sighed, walking in to the front living/dining room. Her friend said "Yes! We used to have dinner right there," pointing to my dining room table. It seems they had been friends in religious school, and have been together most of their lives.

"You have your piano just where ours was. I used to play..." She was beaming as she slowly made her way toward the back of the house. "I was born right there in the back room," she said, "Back when babies were born in houses." The same room, in fact, where Karl died.

She told me her mother was often ill during pregnancy, and the room that is now Elliot's housed the live in nurse. The children slept upstairs, or out on the screen porch when it was very hot.

It makes me even more attached to the house, knowing it has seen not only my son's first steps and words, but also the birth and childhood of this woman.

"I remember those stairs - they led down to the coal chute. And out back we had a cherry tree and a peach tree, as you headed out to the garage." So the back porch and garage were original to the house, or at least very early additions. She wasn't surprised my car wouldn't fit in the garage, it was small even for the time it was built. She pointed out a few more things to her friends, and began to walk back toward the front.

They didn't stay long, and only referred to themselves collectively as "Sisters of the Sacred Heart" both times I introduced myself. Still, I felt very warm towards them, and wish they had given me their names, but I didn't want to push. In a way, not knowing their names made them seem almost ghosts passing through. . . Not the scary creepy kind, but more like benevolent spirits of ancestors past.

I went to let Elliot go outside with Grandma, where she was holding the dog at bay so he didn't knock down any of these frail creatures in his enthusiasm to greet. When I returned, they were studying a family photo on the piano. I explained that it was my husband's family at his parents' 50th wedding anniversary, and that Karl had passed away nearly two years ago. I didn't mention that it happened here, and they didn't ask for details, simply expressed appropriate sympathies, then made their goodbyes.

Passing back through the front door, they promised to pray for me, but cheerfully more than pitifully. I appreciate that as much as anything; that they were clearly joyful people, and we were all delighted to share a little look into the early years of the house that is my home.