He showed them magic beans, and a pen that would write only the truth, and a mouse that aged backward, and a goose that laid eggs in gold, silver, platinum, and iridium. He spun straw into gold and turned the gold into lead.
It was the end of every fairy tale, all of the prizes for which knights and princes had fought and died and clever princesses had guessed riddles and kissed frogs.
The Magician’s Land by Lev Grossman
My house has all of the charm that comes with age. It can be expensive to maintain and the “charm” gets old after a while. I can’t deny the envy I feel when I walk into a new home and see the smooth drywalled walls or the poured cement foundation. But the reality is, I love my old house and all of its quirks. There are stories hidden within and I love that.
Built in 1900, I don’t think there is a single corner in my home that is square. In the kitchen, if I stand on one side and my husband on the other, I am several inches taller than him (versus shorter by one inch like everywhere else).
We’ve been told that our single family home was likely once a three family tenement home. The only way that could possible work is with shared bathrooms. Each renter probably had his or her own kitchen, though. I have chimneys in some rooms with thimbles on them – metal coverings near the ceilings that look like paper plates and which cover the hole where a stove pipe would have been vented out.
There are three inoperable fireplaces in the home, each surrounded by beautiful woodwork and Rookwood tiles and the opening covered in ornate metal plates. In the basement, I see where a coal chute would have like been. While out house has modern electrical wiring, there are inactive remnants of knob and tube strung through the basement rafters.
Wonder Boy and I have done some remodeling over the last nine years of living in our house. We’ve updated our kitchen, during which we found some very dated wallpaper behind the cupboards. (We left that exposed behind the new cabinets so that future homeowners can make the same discovery.) While updating bathrooms, we learned that there had once been a house fire and that at one point someone thought wallpaper the bathroom walls and ceiling was a fabulous idea!
Evidence of old fire damage in our home.
Wallpaper everywhere!
I don’t know specifics about the history and residents of my home, but I’m curious. I’d love to know who lived in my house before me and know more of their stories. What I know of my neighborhood’s history is sort of lovely. It’s right at the top of the old Bellevue Incline in Clifton Heights, just north of Cincinnati, Ohio.. There used to be the Bellevue House, where people went for dancing and leisure, and now there is Bellevue Park, where there are playgrounds, ball fields and great views. Just like my home still holds the remains of old fuel sources and past décor, nearby streets have the skeletons of the old incline.
The Bellevue Incline, running between Cincinnati and Clifton Heights.
Structure in Bellevue Hill Park on Clifton Heights. This is part of the park’s pavilion, which was designed by architect R. Carl Freund in 1955 to serve as an outdoor dancing venue.
View from Bellevue Hill Park in Clifton Heights.
This post was inspired by The Mapmaker’s Children by Sarah McCoy, a novel about two women are connected by an Underground Railroad doll. Join From Left to Write Book Club. on May 19th as we discuss The Mapmaker’s Children. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.
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