»
Main Forums
»
Passions in Prose
»
The Middle Wall
| Passions in Prose |
|
The Middle Wall |
|
|
Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart 
|
[Note: this is intended to be a children's story. I hope you enjoy it in that mien.] It was an old house, Victorian in style, but a house that immediately gave one a sense of home. Mother and Father lived there, together with their eleven children, all of stairstep ages. Even though there were many floors to the house, and many rooms, there was in this house, a room that was the center room for activity. Simply put, everything that happened that was worth happening was in two rooms, the family room, and connected to it with a wide doorway was the kitchen. The wall that connected these two rooms was a very special wall. In fact, it felt it was in the best of all areas and rooms in the house. The wall was always in the middle of lively activity. It had seen the bustle of activity that was a precursor of the birth of Mother and Father's first child -- pots of water on the old iron stove, awaiting the doctor's arrival. In the family room lay mother's knitting of new baby sweaters and baby booties, and by the rocking chair, Father would wait, and wait, until he heard the sound of the new baby's crying. The wall had seen happy holidays, Christmas, Easter, the fourth of July, then as more children were added to the family, birthdays seem to happen with more and more frequency. The wall was very special to the family, for reasons that will be mentioned later. Time went on, and as the family had grown, Father had made sure additional work was done to make the home safe and secure. He had repaired roof tiles, painted the outside of the house. He put in new stone steps so Mother would be safe when she went to and from the house, for she always seemed to be carrying a child with her, even when she worked in her flower garden. Father also had painted the boys room a sky blue, for the boys were very adventurous, and always wanted to be outside, up in trees, playing all sorts of games. He had painted the girls room a soft pink, just as they were, very lady-like in their manners, and not a tom-boy among them. One evening, after enjoying a satisfying meal in the kitchen, all the family had gathered in the family room, which was just adjacent to the kitchen area. Father used to wonder why Mother wanted both rooms to be side by side, but early on in their marriage, after the third child had come along, he did not wonder any more. Mother could be in the kitchen, working on a meal, and still be involved when the children were in the family room, playing or reading. This was because the doorway that connected the rooms was quite wide, making the two rooms almost seem like one. As time had gone on, during cool nights when a warm fire and popped corn seem to be the perfect way to spend an evening, Mother would be able to retrieve everything easily, without losing any part of the family's conversation. Most of all, Father liked to be able to sit in his rocking chair, reading the newspaper, and being able to smell the wonderful food as it was prepared in the kitchen. Yes, Mother knew that these two rooms, side by side, only separated by a bit of a wall, were the two happiest rooms in the house. Now, picture if you will, that these two rooms were pretty much centered in the house. You could leave from the kitchen and go outside, and from the family room, you could either go into a front receiving room and a formal parlor, or on the opposite side of the family room, you could go to a stairway that would take you upstairs to where the bedrooms for Mother and Father and all the children were located. You can see that the family room's outside wall had two windows, and a fireplace. The children liked the windows, because they could look outside at any time of day or night, and always the weather would create something for them to watch. Blowing leaves, or thunderstorms, and rainy days would be when the fireplace would be used. Now, opposite the family room, was the very large kitchen. It was so big that the large table the family would gather at for meals did not seem crowded at all. Mother's stove was a great big iron stove. A fire would always be stoked inside, always ready to cook a meal, or warm a meal. The kettle was always brimming with hot water for tea. Next to the stove was a large kitchen counter and two work sinks, and that too had a window over it. Mother would enjoy watching the outdoors from her kitchen window, just like the children could watch out their windows in the family room. There were side counters for working too, where the kids could line up and help Mother with whatever she needed. Of course, the counters always held things like cooling cookies, or fresh baked pies, or bread rising for the next morning's breakfast. Now, between these two rooms was Mother's "very special wall." Yes, very special, but we will get to that later. The doorway of the wall was very, very wide, much wider than one usually sees in a home today. On the family room side of the wall, pictures of the children hung neatly, showing how each child had grown over the years. On the other side of the wall, in the kitchen, Mother would hang her shiny cooking pots and large ladles. So it was that one evening, while the children were playing paper games, and working on puzzles, Mother was doing her knitting, and Father was reading his paper, that Father brought up a subject for Mother to think about. "Mother, I was wondering if you would like me to paint this room" said Father. Mother, while watching her fingers nimbly work the knitting needles, pondered this for a moment, and said "Well, what color would you want to paint it?" "Oh," said Father, "I would leave that up to you. But I do think," he added, "that it is time we freshened up the room a bit." Both Mother and Father sat quietly, and thought a bit. Then Mother said "Well, dear, perhaps you would want to paint the kitchen too. But you know, we must not paint the middle wall." Father looked over his glasses, which sat down a bit on his nose, and looked at Mother with a puzzled frown. "Not paint the middle wall? Why ever not?" "Well," said Mother, "because." "Because? What kind of answer is that?" Father said. Mother looked at Father with that look that said in a silent way, "don't you know?" Father kept looking at Mother. Mother kept looking at Father, and a small smile began to work around her lips. "Don't you know?" she put into words, finally, to answer Father's puzzled look. The children had started to listen to the conversation. Because Mother usually did not put a question to Father, the children were now paying rapt attention to their parents' conversation. When the eldest son, Jack, caught the beginning of his mother's smile, and without being quite sure of the answer, but thinking he knew the answer, spoke up, and said "Yes, Father, don't you know?" Now Father looked at his eldest son, Jack. The remaining ten children were sitting around, watching Jack, and their parents, all waiting to find out why Mother did not want the middle wall painted. But if you were to find out now why Mother didn't want the middle wall painted, then it would ruin the rest of the story. So you will have to find out later. It is sufficient to say that after that evening, Father had a very good understanding of why Mother did not want the middle wall painted. Father went on with his plans of painting the family room's outer walls, and he even painted the kitchen's outer walls, but he did not paint the middle, inner wall. Now, as you know, in special homes, sometimes there is a bit of magic nestled inside special places. As the family room, and the kitchen, were such active, busy places, with lots of happy children, and a very contented Mother, and a very pleased Father, it only makes sense that there was some special magic in this house. And, you've probably guessed, it was within the walls of the kitchen, the family room, and the middle wall. One evening, long after everyone had gone to bed, but while the coals in the fireplace still burned with a bit of warmth, the walls began having a conversation. You see, the family room's outside wall, the kitchen's outside wall, and the side walls, had been painted, remember? They were feeling rather special, all dressed up in their new coats of paint. But the middle wall, on either side, had not been painted. So, because the two outside walls were feeling so good about themselves, they thought they would say something to the middle wall, because they wanted the middle wall to have a coat of paint, too, in order to look as good as they did. "I think it's a shame," began the front room's outside wall, speaking to the middle wall, "that you could not have a coat of paint, to look as good as I do," it said. "And I think the same," said the outside wall of the kitchen. "Why, you could have had two different colors, one to match each room that you join, there in the middle. Why ever did the Father not paint you?" Now, the middle wall could see that the outside walls were just as unclear as the Father had been earlier, before he had started the painting project. The middle wall, however, knew what the Mother knew, and silently kept this secret to itself. Have you figured out the secret yet? The middle wall spoke. "I do not mind that I have not been painted. Yes, my walls show some wear and tear, but I am all right. My foundation is sturdy. Now, if there had been some damage to my foundation, I would have wanted the Father to repair that, but I am sturdy, so I do not mind that I've not been freshly painted, as you have. Why, you both look so nice, and I am sure that the fresh paint makes you feel so good." The family room's outside wall spoke first. "Feel good? Of course I feel good! I feel wonderful, as the Mother even went and put up new, fresh lace curtains. When my windows are open, the breeze makes my curtains flutter up, and down, and up, and I feel almost as if I could dance!" The family room's outside wall sounded so happy! The kitchen's outside wall then spoke again. "I feel just as good. Of course, the mother could not put lace curtains by my windows, as that is not practical. But she did put some wonderful growing plants on my wide window sills. As I face the southern sun's light, these plants will grow to be fine and healthy. I will get to admire the plants' beauty each and every day." The middle wall smiled (as only walls can do, especially when they have magic about them) at both outside walls. "That is wonderful," it said. "I am very happy for you both." So, since the middle wall was not about to be pulled into an argument or be fussed at for understanding why it had not been painted on either side, all of the walls fell quiet. The house and all of its inhabitants slept soundly for the rest of the night. Time went on, as time does, and the children grew up, as children do. Slowly, one by one, the children began to leave their Mother and Father's home. The boys went to university, and so did two of the girls, while the remaining girls married, and settled in to homes of their own. Soon, only memories of wonderful and happy times joined the Mother and the Father in their home. Over the years, Father had repainted the family room's outside wall, and the kitchen's outside wall, but he now knew why he could not paint the middle wall, on either side. He never had asked Mother again for permission to do so. He now knew Mother's reason. Have you guessed why he could not paint the middle wall yet? After a time, the parents, who were getting too old to look after their home by themselves, were asked to come to live at their youngest daughter's home. As they were now in what you could call an "old-fashioned neighborhood," there were not many people looking to buy such a big, old home. The home, after many years of taking care of such a large family, fell suddenly, quietly, vacant, and left all alone. Now, we all know time does not stop for anything, and it did not stop now. Some years went by, and this large old Victorian home, once filled with laughter, and children, and the smells of fresh bread, and pies, and other home-made treats, sat quietly, sadly abandoned. Until one day. There must have been some magic in the air that day, because sometimes, it is magic that allows us to see things that otherwise we might not see. Especially on a rainy day, such as what we are about to learn about this magic day. It had begun as an overcast, blustery day, and on this day John and Mary had gone out to find a home of their own. The newlyweds were excited, and John was pleasing Mary by taking her to the older neighborhoods, because Mary dearly treasured the look and style of old Victorian homes. When they were in the part of town where the older homes were located, Mary looked up, and said, "Look John, look at that home!" John looked up and saw a very disturbing sight. Here was a home that was in terrible disrepair. Where once the roof had been newly laid with shingles, the roof now needed work. The paint on the outside walls was peeling and cracking. The stairsteps did not look quite straight. Some of the glass window panes had been broken, probably by children who had nothing better to do than throw stones at an old, vacant house. They were looking at the once beautiful home that Mother, and Father, and their eleven children had once lived in. John looked at Mary, who was staring at the house. "You mean, that house?" asked John, pointing to the house Mary was looking straight at. "Yes, dear, that house!" Mary's voice sounded quite happy, and girlish, with a giggly quality about it. "That house!" Mary jumped out of the carriage in which they were riding, and ran up the stone steps, up to the front porch, and peered in the windows. A Model A car sounded quite noisy as it came down the cobbled street, and the horse shied a bit as John tried to hold the carriage and horse still. "Wait, dear, wait," said John, as he pulled up to a carriage stop, and tethered the horse. Then John joined Mary up on the large, covered porch. From where they were standing, John could see in, and had a pretty good view of the family room. "Why," said John, "the walls look as if they need as much work on the inside as they do on the outside." John began to frown. "But dear," said Mary, "it would not take so much work at all to make this a pretty home again." Mary's voice was quite happy, and she was smiling so beautifully. Mary walked over to the front door and touched the door knob. "Why John," she said, "I believe this door is not locked." Indeed, the door had always been locked, but on this very special day, the door was not locked! John started to say something, but Mary had already opened the door and had gone in. From years and years of no one taking care of it, the house had a dusty, musty smell, and there were some cobwebs, here and there, but Mary could feel something magical in the air. "Look, John!" Mary went immediately to the family room, and then right into the kitchen. "Look, John, look!" John followed Mary, with a small smile beginning on his face, because of the lilt and tone in Mary's voice. He thought he knew exactly what was going to happen next. While the outside walls were in terrible repair, John thumped his hand a few times on the middle wall. The solid, sturdy, middle wall, whose foundation had been kept dry, was still strong, and still held the house up well. For good, middle walls usually would do their job just like that, being in the middle, being part of the support and foundation of the home, holding everything together. Mary turned when John thumped the middle wall, and then, came closer to John, looking intently at the wall. "Look, John," she said, her voice now quite quiet, but still a happy voice. "Look close." So finally, the reason Mother had never wanted Father to paint the middle wall was finally seen by someone else. John and Mary were strangers to this house, but not for long. Quietly, as Mary began fingering the pencil markings on both sides of the wall, she uncovered a bit of this wonderful Victorian home's history. For here was a pencil line, marked "10/9/08", and a name, "Jack". There were other pencil lines, and other dates, above the lines, showing how Jack had grown over the years, to become a very tall man. And beside some of the later dates, there were pencil notes that said "champion football game", and "entered University." Mary walked a little, and saw dates of the other children, with notations like "spring dance" and "caught 15 pound fish" by the names of the children. Mary counted. Eleven children in all! There were so many children, that half of the childrens' history was in the family room, and the other half of the childrens' history was in the kitchen! All the lines showed the stairstepping, up and down, during the years. Why, there were even some small handprints along the wall as well. You could tell that the middle wall in the family room, as well as in the kitchen, had not been painted for a long, long time. But Mary knew why. So did John. They learned right away! You see, the middle wall, which was not only the foundation of the home, was also the foundation of the Mother's and Father's memories over all of the years of raising their children. All of the pencil lines, and dates, and notations, reminded Mother and Father of when special things had happened in their children's lives, of how they had grown, how tall they had become before the children had left home, and it stayed long after as a map of growth that the Mother and Father could walk over to, and look at, even after the children were long gone. John decided that this home had been very special to a number of people some time ago, and must have been a good and happy home, because Mary's smile told him so. So he bought the home for his Mary a few days later. Now, everyone needs to freshen up a place, right? Mary and John both knew that there would need to be new paint both on the outside and the inside walls. Even the middle wall would need a coat of new paint. What do you think they did before they painted? John hired a photographer to come to his home. He took a picture of the wall, on both the kitchen side, and family room side, where all of the lines of all of the eleven children told their history of growth, and development. Then, he learned who the previous owner was, and found the Father's oldest boy, Jack, who still lived in the town, but in another part of town. When he found Jack, he gave him the photographs of the Victorian home's middle wall, and suggested to Jack that he have copies of the photographs made, to give to his ten brothers and sisters. And Jack did just that. What do you think happened next? Well, John and Mary painted all of the rooms, including the family room, and the kitchen, and the middle wall. This time, however, the middle wall was smiling, and did not mind a fresh coat of paint. For the middle wall knew, just like Mary knew, that she, as Mother had done, would start all over again. As Mary's children would grow, the middle wall would be the story teller of history, carrying the lines and dates of each child's growth, and of all the important events that each child would experience. And that is the story of the middle wall in the old Victorian home. Karilea If I whisper, will you listen?... I would rather be silent and write, than speak loudly and be bound. KRJ |
||
| © Copyright 2001 Karilea Rilling Jungel - All Rights Reserved | |||
LoveBug
Moderator
Member Elite
since 2000-01-08
Posts 4697 |
This is such a charming story, my friend! You should seriously look into writing children's books or something. Just reading it makes me feel like a child again. Thanks for sharing! "Where there is great love there are always miracles" -Cather "Love heals everything, and love is all there is"- Zukav |
||
|
Wilfred Yeats Member Elite
since 2000-08-04
Posts 2704Wilmington, Delaware |
you sure charmed me with this one! - and the style... You ARE A WRITER! When this is published -(I can almost envision the illustrations ~S~) I surely will want a copy. |
||
|
Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
Lovebug, Wilfred...thank you both so much for your kind replies. This was worked up with my granddaughter...she loves the story....and she and I plan on working on the illustrations....I can't draw worth a darn...but what the heck... again, thank you... |
||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
