I remember, as a boy, walking through a vacant house on the outskirts of the city. It sat empty at that time, but not always by any means. During construction in the early 1890s, it was dubbed the elegant lady as no expense or extravagance was spared. I recall how it smelled like varnish and wax that kept the woodwork looking new, and I imagined the countless hands that gripped the banister as they descended the stairs, making a grand entrance.
Every wall, ceiling, and floor was crafted by the best woodworkers whose reputations were put to the test with every room an expression of their talents. As I walked down the long, narrow hallways, I ran my finger along the artistic carvings that ran the length of the walls, only pausing at a door, of which there were many. Most bedrooms were large enough to accommodate furnishings, giving the appearance of a sitting room with a sofa, dressing tables, full-length mirrors, and four-poster beds. I imagined the lady of the house serving tea to a family member who came to her room for needed conversation.
Downstairs, a crystal chandelier hung in the foyer that led to the living room, where, upon entering, you were awe-stricken by a fieldstone fireplace, each stone carefully chosen by a mason who worked his magic to create a one-of-a-kind masterpiece. As I continued my walk, my eyes were drawn to the stained-glass windows, each pane bursting with color as sunlight pierced them, splashing the room with light.
I entered the large kitchen, where I imagined the kitchen staff preparing everyday meals as well as holiday feasts and birthday meals. Marble countertops, wooden cutting boards, and empty ceiling hooks where pots and pans once hung. An ice box sat in a corner, requiring a worker to go to the icehouse in town and bring back large blocks of ice to keep food fresh. The stove was made of cast iron with several heating surfaces, once fueled by wood and later replaced by electricity. There was also a space for workers to eat. A long table with benches, I assumed.
Every room had a story to tell as I looked around, picturing a huge Christmas tree in the living room, a roaring fire in the fieldstone fireplace, and family and friends gathered around the piano, singing holiday favorites. I saw men sitting in leather chairs, smoking pipes and talking about the day's events. In my mind, I watched as history brought changes to the house, but the house itself stayed true to itself in ways that mattered. She had good bones, people would say, and as I walked away, I think I heard her whisper, " Don't be a stranger.
Downstairs, a crystal chandelier hung in the foyer that led to the living room, where, upon entering, you were awe-stricken by a fieldstone fireplace, each stone carefully chosen by a mason who worked his magic to create a one-of-a-kind masterpiece. As I continued my walk, my eyes were drawn to the stained-glass windows, each pane bursting with color as sunlight pierced them, splashing the room with light.
I entered the large kitchen, where I imagined the kitchen staff preparing everyday meals as well as holiday feasts and birthday meals. Marble countertops, wooden cutting boards, and empty ceiling hooks where pots and pans once hung. An ice box sat in a corner, requiring a worker to go to the icehouse in town and bring back large blocks of ice to keep food fresh. The stove was made of cast iron with several heating surfaces, once fueled by wood and later replaced by electricity. There was also a space for workers to eat. A long table with benches, I assumed.
Every room had a story to tell as I looked around, picturing a huge Christmas tree in the living room, a roaring fire in the fieldstone fireplace, and family and friends gathered around the piano, singing holiday favorites. I saw men sitting in leather chairs, smoking pipes and talking about the day's events. In my mind, I watched as history brought changes to the house, but the house itself stayed true to itself in ways that mattered. She had good bones, people would say, and as I walked away, I think I heard her whisper, " Don't be a stranger.
Mike 2026
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