Mona

Mona

Claire had always had a penchant for mysticism and all the unknown morsels that lurk in the shadows of homes with cryptic histories. She loved working this temp job of readying houses on the market in this historic town of Northworth because it gave her a glimpse into lives and ways of living she had never encountered before. She would drive by the waterfront properties on the way to visit her father, in her high school years, from her mom’s house. Since the divorce, this had become a welcomed regular occurrence. Drive to see dad and dream of all the lovely inhabitants of these statuesque homes overlooking the rippling lake that seemed to go on forever. Sometimes she wished someone else would drive so she could get lost in her daydreams and let her thoughts reach far out beyond the water’s edge, but then again that would mean she would have to sacrifice her quiet time where she could enjoy the peaceful breeze, trail her imagination, let her mind wander and dream.

         Most days she was glued to her planner though. She made it sparkly and fun to look at so she would get some positive inspiration to pick it up and drudge through her relentless schedule. Of course it was all planned by her and she preferred it that way. “A little sparkle never hurt anyone…” is what her Grammy used to say and believe it or not it had helped, especially when she felt particularly tired. Seeing that glimmer of an over sparkly binder shine in the sunlight on her passenger seat picked up her spirits and encouraged her to forage on. “Got to think of that never-ending list” she thought. Oh yes, that never-ending list of fixes and aspirations that gave such great satisfaction to grind away at and how she cherished that deep inner smile it awarded her, to put a check mark by any item accomplished. It seemed that with each new check mark there was yet another item added to the list of to dos, but that was fine with her. “Sanity security” is what she called it. It kept her engaged and feeling accomplished and always acted as a refuge from difficult things she just couldn’t fully deal with yet. She had her dad’s positive mindset and her mom’s work it ‘til you work it out attitude, which was a perfect hybrid situation to yield a type “A” personality with overachievement issues. She laughed a little out loud to herself. She knew she could be absurd at times with as much as she tried to accomplish in the time she had, but hey she had good intentions and laughed most days. Never-ending lists, lots of coffee and internet service were necessities to survive, but most of all it was the peace of mind that those she loved were doing well and were happy.

Multitasking didn’t quite cover her daily rituals. Four jobs or more over a span of about a year and a half was the norm lately. She enjoyed wearing different hats over several multifaceted positions, but she had to admit though, this newest venture of about the last month, to clean and ready crazy cool historic homes for new buyers was her favorite. At least as of late. The schedule wasn’t too time restrictive, so she could keep a good pace and have a few moments to herself to think, sip on her cold brew coffee and do her best thinking or even to plan her next projects.

She slowly pulled into the drive of what looked like an overgrown green Snufflleupagus entryway… she could hear the driveway stones crunch under the tire pressure and the sliding sound stones make when too much pressure is placed upon them when they start to dislodge. “This place is gonna take more than a quick tidy”, she thought to herself… just above the green overgrown sesame street character archway she could see an ancient Victorian gable or dormer. She wasn’t sure which because one could barely see beyond the vines and brush. Amazing when you can’t see much how vibrant sounds and senses can become. Crunching leaves, sliding stones, chirping finches, the warm earthy smell of slow drying mud and the low hum of a lawn mower in the distance filled her head and she couldn’t wait to see what was beyond the ornate wire gates. As the vine covered entryway cleared it was upon her and she hmm’d to herself. What a site it was! Classic and glorious, though overgrown and needing a bath, she decided this special treasure trove of a home would be called Mona. She named all her houses see. In her “nothing but nonsense” notebook, she would always notate where her best ideas came from and who she had them with. She had great success in thinking up some plans with Stella, a large antebellum home at the far end of a Cal de sac on willowy lane. Several tasks were completed alongside some creative thinking done with Travis, a quiet, private mission style home near the lighthouse covered in oaky woods and flanked with stained glass doorways. Her “nothing but nonsense” notebook had a boring outer covering in contrast to her “Don’t think about it, do it” binder that sparkled sometimes offensively. This was to deter anyone from having a look into her best notions and such. Private and special was the “nothing but nonsense” notebook. Nothing to see here! At least not for anyone but herself and her imagination. It was never left in the open and stayed neatly tucked away in her favorite worn leather satchel that she thrifted at the local goodwill. Anything with a purpose, even an item repurposed has a story and life and this lovely attention craving structure ahead, Mona, looked as though she had quite a story to tell.

 Claire parked alongside the overgrown hedge in an area with sparse vegetation where no doubt the last tenants had utilized regularly for their vehicles. Whenever there wasn’t a designated spot for parking she always made sure not to offend by crushing the grass or blocking the entryway, especially on the first day of a project. She grabbed her trusty satchel and a fresh notepad to do a walk through and plan some rehab to make this gorgeous girl shine bright and feel loved. She stepped back and peered at Mona as a whole to take in her splendid presence. “Whew! Two impressive stories so this could take some time,” she thought. The trellis on the second floor was ornate and seemed especially inviting. She kept feeling drawn to go up and explore. She navigated through weed infested grass that was being slowly choked and looked as though it was trying to pull itself out of a well towards the sunlight. The weeds were winning, those little buggers. Claire made it to the stone porch and finally came upon the four steps that were between her and Mona finally meeting. “OK Mona,” she said kindly “let’s see how we can make you feel like yourself again.” The third step had a slight chip or piece missing from the flagstone. Something must have really come down hard to crack that off and she winced a bit thinking of the collision. No worries, she’d clean it up to where Mona’s imperfections would be charming character notes instead of flaws by the end of this and up she went.

The front door was more understated than she had expected and a fresh coat of paint would do it some good for sure. It must have been a vibrant garden green in the good ole days, but it was now faded to where some of the original wood shown through in worn patches and cracks trailed off into patterns, much like the wrinkles on a well-worn face who’d seen its’ share of decades. It must have been a lovely contrast against the white walls and dark stone in the earlier years. Claire gazed to the left and could envision an over-sized swing bench would be perfect there. Look out across the lake, feel crisp autumn breezes, cuddle in thick knitted blankets, sip warm spiced beverages and clutch a great book with that unmistakable sent that only amazing old books possess- That would be heaven. Her heavenly daydream was briskly disturbed by a “Thump! Thump! Thump!” she whisked back around to see that the front door was partially ajar. The thumping was coming from upstairs. Well, now is a good a time as any to get to know who will be here working on this beauty with me. She leaned forward to push the entry a bit more ajar and went for the grand stairway but it was obviously needing some step replacements and was roped off. How to get up there then? As she moved forward past the stairs, she saw a pile of haphazard tools and buckets by the entryway to the kitchen. As she approached, she caught sight of an incredibly intricate copper door composed of two narrow panels layered in a web of patina. How odd, these two thin panels were and the location was strange as well. “What in the… oh my goodness an elevator?” Until she saw the copper plate with two circular buttons obscured behind the potted boxwood, she had been totally perplexed. Why hide this artful piece near the back of the stairwell? A delightful “Ding!” interrupted the silence and echoed through the empty bottom floor, when she pressed the top button. She wrenched her neck upwards because there was a small shadow of movement above. This cool contraption even had a tiny arrow that moved as the elevator changed levels! “Oh this should be fun,” she thought. The doors whined and complained a bit as they opened at a turtle pace. She cautiously stepped with her right foot into the small space covered with marble that reflected flickering warm white light. Her left foot followed and the protests from the closing copper panels ensued. There were three floors so she gently nudged the top button that illuminated with agreement and so she waited. The travel between floors began. That smell, what is that smell? I know it. Is it grape preserves? Where do I know that from? A deep seeded memory flashed before her enveloping her mind with clouds of sugar, sweet aromas and warm pastry crust visions. Her auntie’s grape preserve turnovers had been one of her all-time favorite treats for what seemed like a lifetime ago. Auntie Willa and the sugar sprinkled tops on those incredible preserve turnovers were like newly fallen snow on hills of perfection. Those were delicious. Her stomach growled and she remembered she had forgotten to eat her protein bar and then it happened. Almost as if orchestrated perfectly, the humming of the lift that had begun its slow rumble ceased and the warm flickering lights dimmed at expert speed to black and everything ground to a halt. It was like a vortex of dead stillness and then, a scratchy little voice with steamy grape scented breath brushing her ear whispered, “I like the name Mona…”