Now when I was growing up I lived, below the bridge. Below the bridge meant I lived north of the village proper. The bridge is a railroad trestle and separated the " upstreeters " from the rest of us. The " upstreeters " were the white collar crowd. At least that was the perception at the time, one of those things. I mention this to set things in the proper context. There were some that lived below the bridge that you might say harbored a certain degree of resentment towards those living " upstreet. "I believe my Mom may have been one of those people. She didn't show any outward display of this, but I could tell. She was one of ten children and hadn't had a lot of extras in her childhood, although according to her sisters she was the spoiled one. Whatever the case Mom took a fierce pride in her home. We had a three bedroom, two and one half bedroom house. Two stories with a laundry room and half basement ! It was equipped with modern appliances, including a built in stove and oven. She even had an automatic dishwasher ! Yes, to Mom, it was a palace.
I remember vividly an incident that affected my Mom for years. Dad had taken a position with a new company as a plumber. The man that owned the company lived, you guessed it, upstreet. For a reason I can not recall this man's wife came to our home. A very pleasant lady and gracious. As Mom is proudly showing her the house the lady says, " you have such a quaint country cottage. " Mom smiled and agreed but I saw the fire in her eyes. It was the same look I got when misbehaving in public. She reacted with measured calm and maintained her decorum. The visit went off without a hitch.As soon as she was gone however the roof came off ! Imagine the nerve of that woman. A quaint country cottage indeed ! Mother took that statement with extreme umbrage ! She talked about it for years. Occasionally she still does !
It was something I never really understood. I was aware that Mom felt insulted. I felt our home was as good as anyone else's. I had friends that lived " upstreet " and their houses weren't larger and my home had a bigger yard than most of theirs. Fact is, my house sat on the edge of northwest woods and I had acres to play in. Sure I had been in much larger homes than my own, but gave that little thought. Guess I just wasn't impressed with that sort of thing.
Thirty years later or more I went back to that house. It had been sold to another family but they were kind enough to let me walk through. As I " toured " that house as a visitor I remembered that cottage remark. It came to me then, that house really is a quaint country cottage. It had remained basically unchanged after all those years. The small living room with the fireplace forming one end of the room. The low ceiling with faux beams. The walls are paneled in knotty pine and an area rug lies on the hardwood floor. The stairs at the other end of the room. There is the corner were the Christmas tree sat every year. The kitchen is the largest room in the house. The wagon wheel lamp still hung over the table on that retractable cord, dust has gathered on the lamp chimneys. Another set of steps, in the back corner of the kitchen, leads down to the laundry room and back door. Yes, it was quite the quaint cottage indeed !
I look back over the years with fondness. It was a fine home to grow up in. The only home I knew as a child. It was very large when I was small, and small when I became large. That my Mom took great pride in her home was evident. I wonder though if she wasn't envious of those that had larger homes. Merle Haggard wrote a song called Mama's hungry eyes. Perhaps that is just what he was talking about in that song. Mama thinking her home wasn't good enough, and wanting more. I love my Mom, and even more so for her " quaint country cottage. " It is love that makes a home and mine was filled to the brim. Maybe Mom just wanted more room, but I think it was just right.
I remember vividly an incident that affected my Mom for years. Dad had taken a position with a new company as a plumber. The man that owned the company lived, you guessed it, upstreet. For a reason I can not recall this man's wife came to our home. A very pleasant lady and gracious. As Mom is proudly showing her the house the lady says, " you have such a quaint country cottage. " Mom smiled and agreed but I saw the fire in her eyes. It was the same look I got when misbehaving in public. She reacted with measured calm and maintained her decorum. The visit went off without a hitch.As soon as she was gone however the roof came off ! Imagine the nerve of that woman. A quaint country cottage indeed ! Mother took that statement with extreme umbrage ! She talked about it for years. Occasionally she still does !
It was something I never really understood. I was aware that Mom felt insulted. I felt our home was as good as anyone else's. I had friends that lived " upstreet " and their houses weren't larger and my home had a bigger yard than most of theirs. Fact is, my house sat on the edge of northwest woods and I had acres to play in. Sure I had been in much larger homes than my own, but gave that little thought. Guess I just wasn't impressed with that sort of thing.
Thirty years later or more I went back to that house. It had been sold to another family but they were kind enough to let me walk through. As I " toured " that house as a visitor I remembered that cottage remark. It came to me then, that house really is a quaint country cottage. It had remained basically unchanged after all those years. The small living room with the fireplace forming one end of the room. The low ceiling with faux beams. The walls are paneled in knotty pine and an area rug lies on the hardwood floor. The stairs at the other end of the room. There is the corner were the Christmas tree sat every year. The kitchen is the largest room in the house. The wagon wheel lamp still hung over the table on that retractable cord, dust has gathered on the lamp chimneys. Another set of steps, in the back corner of the kitchen, leads down to the laundry room and back door. Yes, it was quite the quaint cottage indeed !
I look back over the years with fondness. It was a fine home to grow up in. The only home I knew as a child. It was very large when I was small, and small when I became large. That my Mom took great pride in her home was evident. I wonder though if she wasn't envious of those that had larger homes. Merle Haggard wrote a song called Mama's hungry eyes. Perhaps that is just what he was talking about in that song. Mama thinking her home wasn't good enough, and wanting more. I love my Mom, and even more so for her " quaint country cottage. " It is love that makes a home and mine was filled to the brim. Maybe Mom just wanted more room, but I think it was just right.
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