History, [Her]story

I am not a very religious person. I never grew up with the church, never sang hymns on Sunday morning, never said prayers at night. Nor am I the most political, flag waving, foot stomping, change-making kind. You may think then, that I've had little to hold on to, little to stand for, to turn to in times of trouble during these near three decades that I've lived, but you'd be wrong. What I've always believed in is love.

It's become clear to me during the past 10 months that we've been sawing, nailing, glueing, and caulking (and I know I said I don't usually pray, but when you've spent a few hours making a window frame and then need to fit the existing window in it, you've got to do a little praying that it will fit!), that our house has experienced so much love during the past 100 years. Honestly, even without the insulation and sheetrock, the house is so warm, so inviting. It's like a cocoon (the natural kind, not the creepy 80's movie).

This became even more clear yesterday. Now, I wasn't lucky enough to be there when they stopped by because I was working, but Judy, the woman who grew up in this house, stopped by yesterday with her three sisters, and according to my mother (whose opinion I hold highly), these women were the closest family she had ever seen. Judy grew up in this house with her 7 siblings (4 boys, 4 girls) and the many other children throughout the years that her parents fostered. Judy has told me time and again just how much her parents loved children, and other neighbors have told us stories too. When we had some dead branches off trimmed off our large trees last year, Jimmy aka "Tree Man" told us about growing up in the neighborhood and remembering Judy's father who once brought Jimmy and his brother bikes when his own parents couldn't afford to.

The fabulous Raymers. Thanks, Judy for all the loving memories you've shared and of course, the most wonderful bread I have ever eaten!

I just love hearing the stories about our house's history, especially Judy's memories of her childhood, like how she and her siblings used to save their lunch money under the loose floor boards upstairs or how when Wendy eloped with the boy across the street, the sisters threw her shoes from the upstairs window as she was driving off.

It's all kinds of love that shapes our lives. It's love for our (sometimes literal) neighbors, our friends, and that deeply woven, uncompromising love for our families - And I'm thrilled to know that our house has seen them all.