There’s a house I love in my neighborhood. Whenever I can, I walk by way of this house. It is a luscious canyon-orange, Victorian with a big porch, upon which a green rocker sits waiting oh-so-patiently. I have never, to this day, seen anyone actually sitting and rocking in that chair, and so I can only conclude, of course, that it is waiting for me.
But my favorite part of this house is a small window on the Orchard Street side, best noticed at night when it’s dark outside and the lights are on inside this house. Framed by this window are four rows of bottles that look to be magically suspended in the air on account of the glass shelves on which I can only surmise they sit.
I love those bottles. No, I adore them. They make my heart sing every time I see them. They look to be nothing-special kind of bottles but I just love them. There are round and short bottles with squat necks and there are tall and skinny bottles with loooong necks, and then there are the regular you-or-me-on-a-Saturday-morning kind of bottles. There are orange bottles, blue bottles, yellow, brown and green bottles. It’s a veritable feast of bottle joy of every shape and color.
On days I feel alone in all the world I can walk past the house of bottles and that window stirs something that reminds me there’s more to life than the thoughts I’m believing about my loneliness.
On other days when I know I’m not actually alone in all the world (silly thought, that one!) when there is joy and excitement afoot in my chest, why, those bottles stir a sense of the mysterious, a sense of what if. They make me want to do things I’ve never done before, like, for example, knock on the front door of that house and say,
“Why hello there fellow lovers of beautiful bottle people you who live in my favorite house in all the world, would you mind if I sat in that your green rocker out there on your lovely porch with my cup of tea?”
Have you knocked on their door yet? What happens as this story continues?
There is a house that I have considered knocking on too. They have the most beautiful roses all along the front of their fence and up the walk way to their door too. It stands out in the neighborhood when I’m riding my bike past them. I have considered pulling over and walking through their white picket fence gate to talk with the lovers of these roses to hear their stories.
I haven’t yet because I’ve not wanted to slow down my bike at that moment. I notice too – my own stories about how I sometimes am in a space where I wouldn’t want "strangers" coming up and knocking on my door. Sometimes I am not fully dressed, or the house is a mess, or I am busy with something else…
I project that other people do not want surprise company either – but I can see that I have no proof for that. These people might LOVE that I would stop and knock on their door out of the blue. Maybe they would love to talk about their roses and how much they love them and love taking care of them.
Nice to open my mind to that. 🙂
Funny you should ask, Mona, a few days ago I printed out my blog entry on the bottles and added a note, and put it in an envelope addressed to: "My neighbors in the house with the window of bottles." I said:
"Dear People who live in the house of the bottles– It comes to me to share my blog entry with you, the one inspired by your lovely house. Thank you for you and your house and your porch and your window of bottles in the world! Gratefully and curiously amused, Heidi, your neighbor at…"
I walked my note over to the house of bottles and, with a sheepish grin on my face, dropped it into the mail slot at their the front door. That night an email awaited me:
"Hi Heidi– Got your note today. I’m very happy that the bottles bring you such happiness. I like seeing them too, from both the outside and the inside, and I try to make a point of having the hallway light on. They are antique bottles actually, that I have found scuba diving and just tromping along river banks and so on. (I have alot more of them in the basement.) But they are old and beautiful (I think) and I love looking for them. I feel like I am rescuing them from oblivion. Anyway..thanks again, and anytime you want to sit in the rocking chair or knock on the door and say hi, it would be fun to meet you. peace –Bill"
Today I replied: "Hi Bill, thank you so much for your note! I’ve gotten a good number of smiles from it. I love the story of your bottles and how you found them and how you are rescuing them from oblivion. It’s a bit cold to sit on your porch in the rocker, and I’m feeling a bit shy, to tell the truth, but maybe one day I’ll be brave and it’ll be a bit warmer and I’ll know on your door and say hi and have my tea in your rocker. I think I may post your reply on my blog, if that’s OK with you. Of course, it won’t have your email address. Please let me know if you mind. A few people have asked me about it, because they know I dropped my envelope in your mail slot. Oh the adventures we cook up, huh? Thanks again. –Heidi"
And the reply:
"Heidi, Feel free to post my response. And if I see someone in the rocking chair drinking tea I will know it is you. Peace –Bill"
WHAT FUN IS THIS!
So, how about those rose people, Mona? Whattcha gonna do about that? 😉