life between the pages

“I spent my life folded between the pages of books.
In the absence of human relationships I formed bonds with paper characters. I lived love and loss through stories threaded in history; I experienced adolescence by association. My world is one interwoven web of words, stringing limb to limb, bone to sinew, thoughts and images all together. I am a being comprised of letters, a character created by sentences, a figment of imagination formed through fiction.”
Tahereh Mafi, Shatter Me

Friday, March 06, 2015

Dreams and Second Chances

Heartbreak Ridge to Heartsong Rise

It sat on the high hills surrounded by a magnificent view, overlooking a cool and inviting stream, as it had for over two hundred years. Each brick had been formed by hand from the clay of the riverbottom, and painstakingly laid in neat rows, held in place by mortar of ash and lime. A small but beautiful plot of land remained of the original plantation, the best nine acres that nourished three springs and beautiful willows. The skeletal remnants of a boxwood garden and a family cemetery stood in silent testament to the families who had lived in, and cared about, this place.

Unfortunately, when we visited sixteen years ago, the mansion was a crumbling wreck.

The foundation was failing, due to someone's uninformed decision to cut through the summer beam that supported the central portion of the house to expand the stairwell descending from the first floor into the basement kitchen. The house was collapsing in on itself, the south wall cracking in protest where a huge failure was visible and would only grow without substantial investment of time, money, and even prayer. The home had been largely otherwise untouched, boasting much evidence of pride, craftmanship, and bustling activity dating from the original late 18th century construction date, including candleboxes in all the first-floor windowsills, thumbprints in the brickwork, once-polished and gleaming hard yellow-pine floors, horsehair plaster, and original paint finishes on the upstairs bedroom doors.

The wooden lintels had collected rain and leached moisture into the brickwork on the outside, causing the mortar to crumble, sad evidence of imminent failure under the sagging weight of the entire front facade - it looked like an old man with the baggy undereyes and downturned lips of a hard life etched across his cheeks.

So many reasons, so much work to do that involved thousands of hours of labor and dollars. So many dollars.

We turned in despair and walked slowly away, taking many dreams and heartfelt agonies of lost potential with us. Husband called it "Heartbreak Ridge," in an attempt to make light of the situation.

But no more. Someone with the wit, patience, and an adequate bank account, had saved it. Unbelievably, now it stands, a larger and steady presence, ready to be occupied once more by a family, a business, someone with even larger dreams.Some of what was done isn't really historically supported, but hey - it remains. It didn't collapse, after all. Hurrah!

Here's to living history, and second chances.