“Old people talk about the past because they have no futures and young people talk about the future because they have no pasts.” I’ve probably shared that Ann Landers quote before because it’s one of my favorites. The older I get, the more I understand the scary truth in those words. Sure, I’ve got plans that go beyond daily living, but none of them stretch much farther than whether I can recapture any of my lost art skills or lose enough weight to fit into the box of clothes I’ve got squirreled away under my bed. The former is doubtful, but since I’ve lost seven pounds since December’s weigh‑in at the doctor’s office, that second thing on my Bucket List is a tentative “maybe.”
With so many decades in my rear‑view mirror and only one decade in front of me—if I’m lucky—thinking about the future doesn’t come with the same optimism it once did. Yes, I know it’s all in my head. There are people my age doing exciting things: climbing mountains, jumping out of airplanes, running for political office, traveling the world. Developing a passion project and seeking adventures can happen at any age. On the other hand, it’s very First‑World of me to wish I could find my muse and live happily ever after wallowing in paints and canvas while looking better in a slimmed‑down body.
And yes, I am working up to the C Topic. When I think about the future, it feels hazy. But when I think about the past, many of my best memories don’t live in my head—they’re connected to a place and that place is a small, two bedroom cottage on a lake in West Michigan with a screened-in porch and a ton of oak leaves to rake each fall.
Looking back over my time on earth, the cottage stands out larger than life. By “cottage,” I mean the one my dad built when I was two and remodeled more times than I can count. The place where I spent all my summers growing up. The place where my parents retired and hosted countless holiday dinners and picnics. The cottage has always been the go‑to place my mind wanders when I think of home and family and good times.
If it were possible, I’d track Thomas Wolfe down and tell him he was wrong—you can go back home again. Of course, we all know his iconic 1940 book title, You Can’t Go Home Again, has become shorthand for the idea that once we’ve moved into the more sophisticated world of adulthood, with all its ups and downs, heartaches and headaches, joys and disappointments, any attempt to relive our youthful memories will fall flat. Nothing ever stays the same.
But what Thomas Wolfe didn’t know is that my niece bought the cottage when my dad died and presented my brother and me with keys tied with red satin ribbons that matched much of the décor inside the cottage. It was her way of saying we would always be welcome to stop by, even if no one was home. That was a few years back, and the door has since been swapped out, so the key no longer fits—but I know I’m still welcome.
She’s retro‑decorated the place, replacing the 1970s décor with a charming cross between mid‑century modern and a 1940s post‑war style. I love it. My niece didn’t just give it a face-lift and a new coat of lipstick; she gave it a wide smile and flirty eyes. And her "tweaking the place" is so like her grandmother, my mom, liked to do. Every time I go there, my memories meet me at the door and automatically put me in a playful, summertime mood.
I remember the rainy days of painting or putting jigsaw puzzles together, as well as the long days of swimming and boating. I remember every remodel project my dad did—every window and wall he moved. My mom should have had a house built out of Legos because her hobby seemed to be dreaming up changes for my dad to do. Growing up, the cottage was always changing. And it’s taken me until just this moment to see where my unfulfilled dream of becoming an architect was born. At the cottage, watching my parents measure and draw plans. Built and tear down. Paint and polish.
You might not be able to go back home again, but a visit—even in my thoughts—still has the power to teach me who I am and how I got here. ©
That’s sweet. I love the word “cottage,” as it always conjures up a mental image of gardens and kitties and endless cups of lovely tea…
ReplyDeleteMy mom had tea parties with her grand-daughters at the cottage and she always had a cat that wandered in and out. Cottage is a great word. It always puts a smile on my face. I would have loved to see all the cottage on Nantucket Island where I believe they have the kind you described with lots of gardens.
DeleteThere's nothing that compares with those lakeside cottages from years gone by. When I was 12, my parents moved our family to Minnesota--land of over 10,000 lakes. It seemed as though every family either owned a cottage or dreamed of owning one. We were farmers and there wasn't enough money to own a cottage, but my parents eventually owned one after they sold the farm. By then I was grown up, so I never lived in the cottage, but my parents did, and they loved it. It was heavenly to visit them there. Another great post, Jean. Thanks for the memories!
ReplyDeleteCottages can be magical that's for sure. Thanks for sharing your memories.
DeleteLovely post, Jean. The power of place to bring back emotions and memories is very strong. I remember visiting a friend at her short term rental house and feeling so unsettled and experiencing so many (uncalled for, I thought) emotions when I walked through her place - it took me about 10 minutes to realize it was the exact floor plan (and similar flooring, trims etc.) of the first house my 1st husband and I bought and lived in for many years. My body remembered before my mind did!
ReplyDeleteDeb
Wow, that's amazing. So glad you were able to pin your response to what caused it.
DeleteThat quote scares me, honestly, as I'm not even forty and yet I talk about the past way more than the future. I can also totally relate to your dreams of enriching your artistic skill and I'm pretty sure it's possible. Love the word "cottage" too.
ReplyDeleteAs a side note, the http portion of your site address appears twice on the AtoZ master list so I cannot click through to your blog from there. I visited you before the challenge started and found a working link on the master list back then, in fact, but I cannot find it now.
Thank you for letting me know. And thank you for visiting my blog. I'll be over to yours tonight.
DeleteThat's a lovely story--sounds idyllic. Makes me wish that we could have purchased the cottage (we call them cabins in the west) my husband's parents owned on a lake (it's called a pond in New England) in Massachusetts after his mother died. He spent every summer there, escaping the heat in DC. We didn't have the money, though, and we lived on the west coast.
ReplyDeleteSo many cottages here in Michigan are getting converted to year-around homes that they don't have the same charm as they used to. My niece, however, managed to keep most of the charm that speaks to me.
DeleteWhat great memories! Thank you for sharing. My Dad did modifications on our only home and I remember each of them. First he added his "shop" filled with tools and sawdust and cool in the summer since it was under a huge maple tree. Then a playhouse for us. Next was a bunny hutch near the playhouse. Our yard was totally fenced in so we could let them out to eat grass and run around. Last, and best of all, he added a master suite and a small family room ... I had just turned 13 and it was just perfect to have my gal pals over.
ReplyDeleteThanks for jogging my memories!
Fathers in our generation sure knew how to do things, didn't they. Glad this post spoke to you,
DeleteOh, you are so right about the cottage and that you CAN go home again. There is something so special, so eternal, about a cottage where family has spent countless hours together -- eating and drinking, playing games or doing puzzles. You cannot beat it and you can never let those feelings and memories go.
ReplyDeleteI know. Yet so many people remodel the charm right out of them. My niece didn't do that. Vintage cottages translates to fun. That's why I love your postcard post so much. We speak a common language when we write about our cottage days.
DeleteGrowing up, I lived in Minnesota while I was in Junior High School. A couple of my friends' families had lake cottages, and I was invited to spend a week when they went there for the summer. Well, the kids and their moms went for the summer, but the dads could only be there on the weekends because they had to work. It was a really fun experience to be there, and we got to go on boat rides and swim all day. My family could never have afforded a cottage on a lake, so I felt very lucky to have friends who did.
ReplyDeleteI can identify with that. We always invited cousins to come spend a week at our cottage. They rotated in and out like clock work. Our cottage was close enough to town that he could drive it every day. So I was lucky in that respect.
DeleteSame with here in Michigan. Half my class went away for the summer and only came to town one day a week to do laundry and shop for groceries. My husband's family had a working farm too and couldn't afford one and wouldn't have free in the summers to use it if they did. Those cows don't milk themselves.
ReplyDeleteI'm fortunate, like you, to be able to return to the house I grew up in any time. It's updated completely but the walls and stairs are where they were when I grew up there. My father deeded it to my brother, who made in badly needed repairs, most on his own. I thought my Dad could fix anything, and he pretty much could if it was mechanical, but little of a house is purely mechanical. What your Dad and Mom could do was remarkable. I see why it put architecture on your dream list. ~ Flo, from the old Post widowhood blog
ReplyDeleteWelcome Flo from the old Post Widow blog. I tried to google a link to your blog but couldn't find one.
DeleteI'll bet it was fun watching your brother bring your family cottage back to life again.
When you are young, home is where the memories are going to be formed. As you age, home is where the memories reside. Often we think it is a place, and it is - with sight, sound and smell, but it is also people. It's weird when you visit a place and you smell the person.
ReplyDeleteSo true about the memories forming and where they reside. Thanks for sharing that tidbit to mull over in the quiet moments.
DeleteHow lovely that you can still visit the place of your childhood summers. I suppose Wolfe didn't have the luxury of nieces who kept things in the family.
ReplyDeleteIt really is. I had really wanted to have a crack at buying the cottage but it was too far for me to go and still work. As it turned out I got the best of both worlds.
DeleteBought an abandoned cottage to renovate. Put it back to as original as I could imagine. Got there in time to do caretaking. He's gone now so I am making the memories hurriedly. There's no way to visit or live at the old homesteads. But maybe that's good at this point. I'm doing a "do over".
ReplyDeleteThat renovation must have been fun. I love it when people restore rather than remodel. But life sure changes when you lose a spouse. You've got to do what you've got to do to move on.
DeleteThat sounds like such a lovely place to create such great memories
ReplyDeleteIt is and my niece is resuming the tradition of having a family reunion that includes all our cousins.
DeleteHow Wonderful that your Niece bought the place so it stayed in the Family. I Wish I could have done that with the Historic Home coz all the Kids lament that we had to Sell it and would have wanted to Inherit it even more than Inheriting this place, which is better, but doesn't hold as many Memories and isn't as quirky as original Bohemian Valhalla was. We moved so much as I grew up and when I was a Young Adult that until I bought the Historic Home no place was "Home" except where ever we happened to be at a Moment in Time and going back never was therefore anything I ever wanted to do or thought about since I only ever lived somewhere a Year to 18 Months, 4 Years Tops during some Overseas Assignments where your Tour of Duty was longer. But I lived in the Historic Home for 15 Years, so it held a Special place in my Heart and was something I always dreamed of owning... since, I Love Historic Properties and in Arizona there aren't that many that survived.
ReplyDelete