My house was built in 1922, so this is its centennial year, and we really felt we should celebrate. I bought the house in 1992, partly because of its big, partly roofed porch.
Many years ago, when Jordan was living at home with me, we had porch parties. Big potluck affairs where fifteen or twenty of her friends would come, bring their own beverage, and a favorite dish—the menu, I remember, tended heavily toward Mexican. Many romances flourished on that porch—some lasted, some didn’t. Jordan and Christian had their second or third date on the porch, and one of her friends recently confided in me that she was a little uncertain when they boy she had just started dating brought her here. Now they’ve been married for who knows how many years! I was always part of the fun, and I loved those evenings. Those stories of romances that lasted are treasures.
Things are different now. We’ve remodeled the garage/guest house into a wonderful one-bedroom cottage for me, with a bathroom that’s bigger than my kitchen (something is out of whack with that!). It’s my cozy, comfortable spot, and I love it. My desk is by a window and French doors that are always open to the patio when the weather is fine. My entertaining has moved from porch to patio. Jordan and Christian and Jacob live in the main house and still use the porch, sometimes to grill and frequently to sit out with a late-night glass of wine. I do miss one aspect of the porch—talking to neighbors who walk by. But my patio is as welcoming as the front porch and sees almost as much traffic.
Tomorrow we’re having a house birthday party and inviting those porch-party people back, along with a few neighbors who’ve been frequent guests at the house. I’m hoping Christian will raise a toast at some appropriate moment. Jordan has been cleaning and planning—she’s a terrific organizer and could be an events coordinator if she weren’t a travel consultant. My contribution is to make dips and the like, some of the foods I used to serve at Tree Trimming parties.
That’s a whole ‘nother story. I used to give an annual Tree Trimming party where the price of admission was a Christmas tree ornament. Some sixty or more people would crowd the house, eat the food I’d been preparing for at least a month, and decorate the tree. Inevitably it was fully decorated by the end of the evening, though there was the notable evening it fell over—caught in time by a friend. Those glory days of entertaining at big parties are over, and I miss them. But, as with many other things, I tell myself I have the memories. Meantime, tomorrow, it will feel good to have a mini-version of my old, big parties.
It's a perfect time, too, for a patio party. Come spring, the front porch is Christian’s domain. He’s a pot gardener, and he fills the porch with wonderful flowering plants. It truly is a sight to behold. But Jordan and I are responsible for the back yard, and it is just now coming into its own. The pentas that line the deck are still small but have their first blooms the bougainvillea in a pot on the deck railing is finally putting out some blooms; the zoysia grass, always so slow I fear the worst, is filling in the empty spots; and the grape hyacinth on the fence has its first blooms. The oak leaf hydrangea that is in my direct line of vision from my desk has not yet offered blooms, but it is growing daily. It’s a wonderful time of year.
A lot of has happened in the thirty years since I bought this house. My children have married, my grands came along one by one, some quite close to one another, I’ve retired and built a whole new career writing both mysteries and the western stories that are dear to my heart. It’s been a good time, even if somehow age has crept up on me.
So here we are, celebrating a hundred years. And no, I haven’t lived in this house that long.