Freeman House

 

 Hello, you. How are you? We have some catching up to do. Namely, because, let's get right to it:

 I went back to Freeman House.

I went back, y'all.

I hadn't meant to. It wasn't even remotely a thought as I went about my day yesterday, running errands and rushing everywhere. It was a distracted, hurried day, so it's no wonder my frazzled  brain gave the wrong name at the dry cleaners. Brin Wisdom, I told the lady twice, before realizing my over-drive brain mistake and correcting it so she could locate Matt's shirts. And as she handed them over, she studied me closely and said, thoughtfully: Brin Wisdom. You're the girl they almost made the movie about, aren't you? That girl with the house?

I gave it no thought, quickly assuring her there was no movie, and no, that couldn't be me. But as I was tapping the chip of my debit card to the reader, she persisted: Yes you are! Did you know your house is for sale? They're selling it.

And suddenly, it all clicked- the debit card reader... Brin Wisdom... "the girl with the house". My brain quit spinning and stopped with a big arrow on this singular thought. She meant Freeman House. Freeman House was for sale.

Understand: in the almost fifteen years since I bought her, I've driven by Freeman House three times. And one of those times I couldn't even turn my head to look. So I can't say exactly why I ran to the car, abandoned my errand-running, and drove straight to her. But suddenly, there I was, braking hard in front of her much-altered yard, dry cleaning hangers rocking wildly on the hook behind me.

There she was. With a realtor sign in the front yard. I started crying.

 - - - - -

Not as hard as I did when, hours later, Matt and the realtor waited inside Freeman House's front hall as I stood on the porch repeating, I don't know if I can. I don't know if I can go in. But as Matt joked the realtor began pointing out features, I took a deep breath and willed myself inside.

She's changed so much.

I hated it. I hated it all.

The original woodwork and doors? Gone. The enormous, wavy-glass windows? Ripped out. 

The library? Now a dark, odd "primary suite". 

The cozy living room? Chopped up into a bathroom, walk-in closet, and storage area.

The kitchen? Well, the brick fireplace is gone. So is an entire wall and doorway. The upstairs stairs are in a different, crammed place. There are doorways added and doorways missing, rooms altered and rooms missing. And that enormous wavy-glass built-in in the old dining room where I spent my first many nights after I bought her? Astonishingly, it's nowhere to be found. Instead, there's an empty cove in the wall with a wifi router/TV cable outlet.

I wandered the place, trying to be present in the conversation, as memory upon memory flitted just beyond sight. Here's where the break-in happened. There's where the range used to sit. This used to be the dining room. That was my desk area when I got that email about being on the Dr. Phil Show. No, no... this used to be the back porch-turned sitting room where I sat in the mornings and drank up the sun with my coffee.

We tried, as best we could, I guess, to tell the realtor of this house being so much more than just... a house. So much more. But how do you? How do we tell someone, twenty years later, about the time I saved the house and the house saved me?

How could we all possibly tell the story of Freeman House?

So. Here we are. We all have a decision to make. Freeman House is for sale, again. The owner is motivated to sell quickly, so there isn't much time.

Do we see this as God restoring all things and bringing us full circle? Do we buy it and open her for guests as I intended before? 

Do we let her to go the interested family from Kansas looking at her now, trusting that this new life will bring its own new blessings?

 Vote your heart. I'm listening. And somehow, I think she is, too. -Brin

Most Precious Gifts

Bad things do happen; how I respond

defines my character and the quality of my life.

I can choose to sit in perpetual sadness,

immobilized by the gravity of my loss,

or I can choose to rise from the pain and treasure

the most precious gift I have - life itself.

-Walter Anderson

Freeman House is no longer mine. I handed the keys to the new owner Wednesday and left quietly through the kitchen door. I've never cried so hard in my life. My eyes are still puffy.

But it's only a house, right? Four walls, a roof and a floor. I can't take it with me. And how I respond to this does define my character and the quality of my life. So I'm choosing to rise above and treasure the precious gift I still possess: life. Possibility. Faith. The hope of things to come.

There's always the hope of things to come. That, to me, is one of the most precious gifts....

(Some great reading I've relied on when facing loss, sadness, or general down-and-out blues? Rising Above, Let the Journey Begin: God's Roadmap for New Beginnings, In a Pit with a Lion on a Snowy Day, and Soul Catcher: A Journal to Help You Become Who You Really Are. I hope, if you're working through something, that these books and journals help you as much as they've helped me.)

Garden Grocery Game, Day 2

This morning's garden fare: gangly green beans, lush lettuces, nutty broccoli and potatoes that will taste of butter. All organic. This is incredible. Most incredible. Instead of fearing for my health on this 84 cent-a-day diet, I'm excited. Come to Freeman House, I want to yell to people sitting in the drive-thru. The eating's great!

Today I'm thinking of some sort of Potato and Tarragon Cake. I saw this yesterday in Fran Ward's Food For Friends, one of my favorite cookbooks. (And seriously, they have it on Amazon right now for about a dollar. Go grab you one.) Trouble is, there's no recipe for this dish. Do you have one? No? Guess I'll have to make one up. Yep, I'm thinking a Potato and Tarragon Cake with a side of steamed broccoli. Or maybe a side of salad with raw, crunchy green beans. Maybe I'll wash it all down with sun tea with a sprig of mint. Yeah. That sounds perfect.

It looks as though this may be typical of the gardening offerings for this week, at least until the squash, zucchini, cucumbers, okra and tomatoes ripen up. Then I'll have so much I'll be sending food to your house, canned into jars and glowing back at you like colors from a stained glass window.

Wouldn't it be cool... yeah, I'm thinking it would be fun... if I journal my meals here and offer recipes to go along with the meals I dream up. Wouldn't it? That way if you have your own little garden plot or get to the farmer's market or grocery, you'll have even more ideas of what to do with all that beautiful produce. I'll try to get right on that.

Okay. Yesterday, June 2 - oatmeal with fresh plums and honey (I traded peppers for plums with my friend Shelley); and garden pizza (homemade crust, pizza sauce, spinach, garlic, onions and broccoli from the garden, and fresh mozzarella). It was superb:

I think I'm going to call this my little Garden Grocery Game, or 'How to Eat on 84 Cents a Day'. If you have a garden. And if, like me, you're broke, hungry and a smidge crazy....

Happiness and Hydrangeas... Hope and Honey

The art of being happy lies in the power

of extracting happiness from common things.

-Henry Ward Beecher

So. Hi. I'm here, with my hands in my back pockets, rocking from my heels up to my toes, blushing. Hi. It's me again.

It's been many weeks, hasn't it? Maybe someday I'll find some courage and use it to tell you all what's been happening in and around me these past few months. Someday. It won't happen today, I assure you. All I can say is, I think I'm back to blogging and I have missed you all dearly. It's good to see you again. You were okay while we were apart, weren't you? Fill me in. Tell me everything.


Everything bloomed while I was away from blogging. These hydrangeas - planted by Ms. Freeman herself some 40 years ago - are at their best today. Truly. The blooms are as large as dinner plates, and the thick-with-dew morning breeze sways them into the peeling, grayed walls of this house. The window pictured here is my bedroom window, along with the hydrangea that sits underneath.

Years ago, back during the second World War, my room was used as a kitchen. A worn table used to sit on the other side of this window. I imagine brides and then children and then old, tired men looking out from the wavy-paned glass onto the frothy blue-and-violet petals below, just as I do now. I wonder if they thought about the same things I do: life... love... dreams... happiness. I wonder if they came to the same conclusion about it all that Beecher and I have: that the art of being happy... of being hopeful... comes from extracting every bit of hope and happiness you can from the common things. It's all much like the bee who extracts good things from blossoms and then carries them home, knowing one day it will all collect and run together and become something substantive and sweet.


Happiness and hydrangeas... hope and honey - they have much in common, if you ask me.

So. So you know, things may begin looking differently around here in the coming months. I want to add some features and introduce you to some new things I love. (Like Picnik, the new [free!] photo editing software I'm using to play with pictures now.) I want to tidy the place up a bit. I still haven't made a decision on ads, but I do know that the bakery isn't turning a profit yet, and this girl's got to do something to survive. Living on hope is running its course.

In the meantime, we'll plan for a calm and comforting summer, and continue to press our noses to our windows and look out, extracting every bit of hope and happiness we can from the common things.

So then. It's hello again. I'm settling back in again. It's good to be back. -Brin

May 2009 Freeman House Newsletter (Updated!)

The world's favorite season is the spring.
All things seem possible in May.
-Edwin Way Teale

It is May at Freeman House. April's cool winds have retired, leaving drizzly showers to take their place. Daffodils have given way to roses and hydrangeas, and the garden is awake and at work. In the evenings, I cut fistfulls of blooming, reaching things and bring them indoors.

They make me deeply, quietly satisfied.

With all my time and efforts and attention devoted to the bakery, I'm getting little done at Freeman House. I have hung some pictures... and an Italian mirror I found three years ago (for $10!) in the library. This room. Gosh. I adore it. It's my favorite place to be.

As longtime readers of this blog know, the home didn't start that way: being my favorite place to be, that is. This is the library, half-renovated:

And here's that same corner and window now:

The chair is one of my best places to read. The light is perfect. The room is calm. I light candles and kick my feet up and bury my heart and head in a book.

Some books I've read this spring? Surprisingly many. (When have I had the time? Now I'm puzzled.) Some have been disappointing. Others have been a life line. In no particular order (and without prejudicing you with my little opinions or moral objections to characters/character behavior), they are:

Beachcombing for a Shipwrecked God

The Drowning People

The Year of Pleasures

The Story of Forgetting

Made From Scratch

There's still much to be done in this room. The mantle needs to be finished; I've sanded off the old lead paint and have begun to stain it. (Yuck.) The 120 year old pine floors still need to be restored. As does the chimney and fire place. And the moldings. And ... gosh. Thinking about all that remains to be accomplished has me reaching for my panic attack meds. But I do, already, adore this space. It's collected and cluttered but calm, like me.

Elsewhere in the house, work continues. Especially in the kitchen. Always in the kitchen. Right now, Lemon Balm, Mint and Thyme spread out on racks and dry. Soon there'll be organic teas and herbal bath salts.

Although much is the same, much has changed around here. The bakery keeps me busier than ever. Slowly, a rhythm has presented itself, but I've found that baking for yourself- baking for friends, even - is far different than baking for the public. I crave solitude the way others crave socialization; being "out" every day, keeping up a public face, is torture for me. I dislike the interruptions... I'm easily annoyed by the necessary chatter and introductions and small talk. (Or, in a few words, serving customers. Yikes.) I need to hire someone to be me, so I can be me....

Spring has brought rain, and the drizzle has played outside the windows lately, coming down in droves. Outside, Millie's watched as I've fished clothespins from puddles; apparently the clothespin bag has filled with water numerous times, sending the pins swimming in the mud below. I've gathered them and brought them inside to wash, carefully turning and drying them along with my favorite wooden kitchen utensils. (This spoon a hand-carved beauty with a crooked "1884" scratched into its back.)

The clothespin and spoons are pieces in a Freeman House game I'm playing now: sort of a how-low-can-your-electric-bill-go? game. By carefully averaging my usual summer electric bills in years past, I've devised a dollar amount that I should expect to pay each month for the electric. Anything I can save off that I'm turning into fun money. Or maybe into a wood-burning oven for my kitchen. We'll see. All I know is that clothespins negate a dryer and spoons a mixer, so I'm the sure winner in my summer electricity game.

So what have my spoons been busy mixing up? Lately it's this: Lemon Balm Shortbread. I haven't served it yet at henrybella's, but likely will soon. Here's the recipe in case you want to try it, too:

LEMON BALM SHORTBREAD

2 sticks butter, softened
1 cup sugar
3 ¼ cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
2 eggs, lightly beaten
1 splash vanilla
1 cup fresh Lemon Balm leaves, chopped

Preheat oven to 325° F.

In a large bowl with a wooden spoon, stir together butter and sugar until they make a grainy paste. Stir in flour and baking powder, working it together for 30 seconds or so. Crack in eggs and pour in vanilla. Combine well, using your hands to knead dough, if necessary. (This usually isn’t necessary for me, but I’m an enthusiastic stir-er.) Sprinkle in most of the lemon balm (or whatever you’re using: lemon or lime zest, chunks of fruit, etc.) and mix until it’s well incorporated throughout the dough.

Turn onto a floured board or counter and roll until it’s as thin as your pinkie finger. Lightly press remaining lemon balm into top of dough. Transfer to baking sheet and bake at 325°F for 15 minutes or until it begins to turn golden brown at the edges.

Remove from oven, cool, and cut into shapes using your favorite cookie cutters. Dust with powdered sugar too, if desired. Serve at room temperature.

At the sweet shop, I generally use this recipe to roll out two very thin sheets of shortbread, then bake them with a layer of homemade strawberry jam between the sheets. After they bake and cool, they're cut into heart shapes and dusted with powdered sugar. The Strawberry Shortbread Hearts are a big seller and a favorite of many customers.

So. Adjusting. Baking. Hosting. Writing. Making new friends. Attending graduations. Trying to keep up. That's life here in May.

Of course, we can't forget about Millie. She plays next door all day, then sits at the kitchen door in the evenings as I make dinner, often catching a nap here and there.

She's as loyal and amusing as ever. The best friend a girl could hope for.

Such a sweet, agreeable pup.

Speaking of sweet, agreeable things, I've been quietly working on these - I call them Hanky Stacks. A Hanky Stack consists of three hand-or-machine stitched cotton hankies. The fabrics and thread are cheerful poking out of bags and pockets and purses, and I've found them to be my eco-friendly and charming answer for a variety of life situations, including: spills, bawling at movies, wiping eyes and noses, sopping sweat after workouts, relieving the heat, removing funky stains (and fingernail polish!)... even cleaning the dog's paws. My gosh, are they great!

If you're interested in a set, they're $9.99 each, and that includes postage to mail them from Freeman House to your door. Check them out by clicking here....

So... that's some of the latest here. Hope your spring has been lovely. Happy May, and Memorial Day!, from Millie and me.

Warmly, Brin

Quiet, Golden Day

After arriving home from Thanksgiving, all I wanted was to shut myself inside my golden room and be still and be warm and breathe. Just breathe. No phones. No computer. No visitors. No one anywhere demanding anything. I had already promised myself the ultimate luxury: one day... an entire day... to do nothing. Nothing except what I wanted.

So I did. I twisted the worn, aged doorknob in my bedroom until it caught the door tight. And I looked around the room and let out the breath I didn't even know I was holding inside.

I passed by the mantle, all weathered and peeling and old. So old. I breezed by it to the windows, where I gathered the curtains in my fists and fastened them back.

And as the light poured in, I sat close - with a steaming mug - and listened to the wind and breathed. And sipped. I sat and breathed and sipped.

When the mug was empty and my feet got cold, I climbed into my curved, chipped bed and I started to knit. Something for me.

Not something to sell or something to donate or something to give away. A cabled hot water bottle cover just for me. I never do that. I never make things just for me.

As I knitted, I found myself so happy and so contented and so comforted and so comfortable I cried. I just let it all out: all the exhaustion and worry and excitement and weight. It was wonderful. I had the whole day. In my golden room. A whole day with the worn doorknob and heavy fireplace and gathered curtains and steaming cocoa and curved bed and knitting and setting myself right again. I felt like royalty.

Holiday aprons hit the shop Friday. The shoe drive kicked off today. The bakery website goes live tomorrow. And as soon as these holidays are over, I've promised myself another quiet, golden day.

I can't wait. Hurry January.

(I heard you, Faith. The hot water bottle cover is a Sarah Dallas pattern and is in this fantastic book of knit patterns. For all fellow knitters without this book, do yourself a favor and buy one for Christmas. It's fabulous.)

Kitchen Duty

There's a lot of work going on in the kitchen. On Friday a wall that used to enclose the old brick chimney was disassembled. Over a hundred years of dust and dirt swirled around us as cedar walls fell to pine floors, and for a few days it seemed that no amount of sweeping would ever get rid of the dust.

But it did. I cleaned and cleaned and made a pie and suddenly everything felt a bit brighter.

There's even a cabinet standing in for the pantry now until another can be built. It stands tall beside the 1890s chimney that used to help heat both the kitchen and the dining room. The tower of bricks leans to the left and its mortar is crumbling. I think it's charming. Especially the top, which you can't see in the picture here.

I have to leave the kitchen tomorrow for a conference, having sewn and ironed up another batch of Apron Toolbelts for the Freeman House Shop....

Wishing you a cozy Friday and weekend. -Brin

(Update: Aprons are gone as of Thursday night. Thank you! More to come...)

A Calendar Event

The talented Lindy commented on yesterday's post with a charming suggestion, I thought: why not use a few of the pictures and quotes seen here to do a Freeman House calendar? A bit of a house fundraising move, she said. I read her comment and then stared at the ceiling and thought, Huh. How clever! How delightfully fun would that be?

I worked on it half the night. Lindy was on to something. And the calendar was delightfully fun... and clever.

So for Lindy... and... you... and everyone else who faithfully reads, here's the rub: the Freeman House 2009 Calendar is now available! Featuring 13 of my favorite Freeman House photos and gobs of quotes and tips, the calendar will ship on December 20th to brighten and happy up homes all new year long. To reserve yours (as supplies will be limited) and for all the yummy details on the calendar itself, please go to the Freeman House Shop on Etsy and click on the image for the Freeman House 2009 Calendar.

It's always been my wish to share this wonderful old place with anyone in need of a little warmth or homemade happiness. Now I can, in some small way, ship Freeman House to you! Hope you enjoy....

The Haunted Haunt

All houses are haunted. All persons are haunted.

Throngs of spirits follow us everywhere.

We are never alone.

-Barney Sarecky

Yikes. But I believe that. I believe that we are people who live out our lives in the midst of a spiritual realm. Not to sound crazy or anything, but I believe in angels. I believe in demons. I believe in things I can't see, hear or touch. And I believe that, regardless of our faith or eternal destination, these beings... these spirits, whatever... interact with us far more than we realize. I don't believe my house - or my person - is haunted, but I do believe that I'm not always alone here. It doesn't scare me, though. I know Whose side I'm on. I know Who wins in the end.

So the scary house night is tomorrow. And seriously? I was worried that this place wouldn't be scary enough? Decorating has yet to begin, really, and I'm already satisfied folks will get their $3 worth of fright. Today I threw a black cape over a dress form in one of the rooms that has yet to see renovation and then, an hour later, caught it out of the corner of my eye. Think I jumped three feet. Scared me to death. And I know it's there. And it's not even dark yet.

This is the library. A view into it, anyway. The library will feature my red velvet couch, black lights, candles, and a "dead" girl. Rumor is (although there's no truth in it whatsoever), is that a young girl fell from one of the second story windows of Freeman House and, well, died. It's not true, but it's a plausible story - especially when you note how low-to-the-ground the windows sit. Anyhow, my tiny high school friend Emily is going to be the "dead" girl, only when people pass by her wake in the library, she'll suddenly sit up to reveal a half-bloody face while hissing "the wagesss of ssssin is deathhhhh...".

Yeesh. It helps that there are bloody hand prints on the window outside where the little girl supposedly (but never did, I assure you) fell. You can't tell here, but they're red and look very realistic.

(By the way, the same girl, the first of many people to tell tour-goers that "the wages of sin is death", will later open a door, clean, white-robed, and carrying a glowing candle, to lead people out of a dark, stifling room, proclaiming all the while that "the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord" - Romans 6:23. Some of us Christians have a bizarre take on these things, I'll give you that.)

So. There will be a total of five rooms and a long hall that make up the tour tomorrow. Each will be creepy and unexpected in its own right.

There are so many costumes. I got home from work today and laid them out, trying to make sure I've put the right people in the right ones. And then it dawned on me: I don't have a costume. I picked up the mirror and looked at myself.

Maybe I'll just be me - the quiet-hearted, ruffled-shirt-wearing girl who haunts Freeman House already. I think I'll just white out my face and wear 1880s-type clothing and stare at the kids with my big, dark eyes and shakily whisper that I live here and, would they like to stay here with me, too?

That would do it. That would be creepy enough.

Maybe now's not the time to mention that I've applied to be a foster parent to a little girl. Good thing I'm getting all this spooky stuff out of the way tomorrow, huh? Wish us luck.... -Brin

Spook House

Ah, Freeman House. The local spook place... the neighborhood haunt. Kids for miles around are scared of her. Adults for miles around are wary of her. So much history... so much mystery... tied up in this old place. What is it with this house? people ask. It really leaves an impression, doesn't it?

It does. The impressions are different, but it certainly does.

This week has been insanely busy. (Think I slept two hours last night.) And kids from miles around will be coming to Freeman House this weekend for a good old-fashioned scare and a simultaneous lesson in Romans 6:23. Should be fun. I've worried for weeks... worried that it won't be scary enough... worried that it will be too scary. Worried that people won't come and worried that crowds will come. Today I finally decided to relax and enjoy it. Not everyone, after all, has such a fun opportunity to welcome so many kids into a cool, safe environment. Not to mention the 23 folks that are scheduled to help....

So I'm covered up in black lights and glow-in-the-dark paint and gray wigs and robed costumes and praying that I make it through the weekend. Surely we'll make it through the weekend.

If not, you know where to find me. I'm in the spooky house on Jefferson Street. Just follow the signs. Or better yet, ask someone. They all know. -Brin

A Curious Sense...

She had a curious sense of her own roots

twined about the old house.

-Alice Tisdale Hobart

I sometimes have that, too - a curious sense of my own roots somehow twined about this old house.

Over the weekend, before and during the storm, I sanded floors. Myself. As in, I rented a commercial floor sander and installed the sanding pads and operated the 57,938 pound machine myself. It was a beating, especially after the stupid machine played out and the power went out. I sat down on the floor as Ike blew right outside that window and shouted, "I hate this old house! You're a terrible, ugly old pile of wood!" And immediately I was sorry. I felt as if I had screamed at myself. There is, after all, a curious sense of myself twined about the old place.

So. Floor finishing stalled but will resume again Saturday. This time I'm renting a different machine from a local place and not a chain superstore, so when I take it back and say, "Um, this machine needs to be serviced. Two of the three sanding drums don't work and I couldn't complete my project," the cashier won't look at me and say, all exasperated like, "Well, my belly button ring's infected. We all have our problems."

*****

After putting on lipstick and a new yellow jacket this morning, I went to the bank. "I need money for a new roof," I told the loan officer. Surprisingly, she didn't double over laughing or call security to escort the crazy lady (me) outside. "I think we can help," she said. I almost hugged her.

Freeman House... old place... you may be getting a pretty new roof soon. It'll thrill us both, I know. In the meantime, I need you to be nice and not throw any other problems my way. You're killing me.

*****

A note from the State of Texas. I'm all licensed up and certified to proceed with plans for the bakery side of Freeman House. Somewhere deep down inside I'm excited, but right now, I'm so preoccupied with storm clean up and a busted lawnmower and a leaking roof and half-sanded floors that my mind can only stretch so far. Could you be a little excited for me? That would be great.

*****

Freeman House will be busy this fall. She's hosting a fundraising "Spook House" on Saturday, October 18. Those who come out okay will get a candy bag and a cartoon Christian leaflet with our perspective of Halloween. Then on November 1, the Fall Masquerade Ball is set to be a hit. I've decided to be a Forest Fairy and I already have big golden wings and a costume. I have to show you. Later I'll show you. It's spectacular.

*****

Whew. So. Better be off. I have a group of ladies coming by in a few moments to "peek in" on the house. (People think, when you tell them you're renovating an old house, that you're simply repainting and changing out cabinet hardware. Why is that?) Folks come over here and take a few looks around and say, Wow. You really are redoing this house. I mean, it barely has walls. And I smile and agree but think, "Careful what you say! You should have seen her before. She's beautiful but just needs love."

But maybe I'm too defensive and emotionally involved. After all, I think over time my own roots have twined about the old house.

A Quiet Moment of Rest

The beginnings of a collection and a found hutch, right at home in the Freeman House dining room.

The house is incredibly chaotic today... boxes, dishes, papers and piles everywhere. Friday the restoration of the original pine floors begins. This massive project has already, I've found, required quite a bit of packing, stacking, and juggling.

I guess I need to tackle this next, but sitting here looking at this sight in the rainy afternoon light gave me pause.

I think I'll have something cold to drink and sit down a minute. It will all get done later. It always does....

Hoping you find a quiet moment of rest sometime today, too. -Brin

I Interrupt This Broadcast...

I had my week all planned out. The day planner read something like this: Monday? Meeting in Dallas with oil client. Tuesday? Meeting to square away my recent licensing by the State of Texas to operate and manage a B&B and a restaurant. (!) Wednesday? Design meeting with folks handling web design and promotional material for Freeman House. Thursday? Errands, banking, consultation with contractor. Friday? Wait for piano tuner and pest control guys. Plant pumpkins and squash. Jar up my homemade pesto. Update the Etsy shop. Crash.

Of course, it never goes as planned, does it? First thing, the oil client called and wanted to reschedule for Wednesday. Then Wednesday's meeting said, really, it would still be several weeks until they were prepared to present mock-ups for the site. Then the bug guy said he was waiting on chemicals and ... and so on. Sunday I sat down with a good friend and said, calmly, "I can't even plan my life one week in advance. Most people have things on their calendars three months from now and I can't even commit to anything three days from now! I envy you folks with a little stability. Can we trade?" And then I started shaking. Shaking. I think I'm too keyed up or something.

Love Letters, Freeman House

All that said, I'm so excited about what the next year holds for Freeman House... for my life. This winter, the old place will open to its doors to begin serving regular lunches, dinners and teas. The bakery will kick off. I'll be launching my own brand of organic spice blends and baking mixes. And Freeman House will begin receiving overnight guests. Special guests. People who've been thinking of buying or renovating an old house. People who are curious about the renovation experience. People who want to live this life - if only for two nights. Folks who want to help pick paint samples, root hydrangeas, plant fall bulbs and learn to restore old woodwork. People who want to learn to bake bread, knit, can or garden. Those who like to explore old attics and read old love letters. People who are curious about what it takes and how you go about finding, purchasing and renovating historic properties. (Of course, there will be plenty of starry nights, plates of warm cookies, kayaks, books, homemade dinners, line-dried sheets and library fires to keep things cozy in the meantime.) Yep, those sort of people will be extended an invitation to come and stay. It will be wonderful. I'm so excited to welcome new faces into the old place. We'll have a ball.

In the meantime I have much to do. Understandably. And in the middle of all this I have two excursions planned: one to Europe, the other to the Bahamas. (My life hasn't changed in one respect since I left news reporting: a bag is always, always packed, and I own two of everything... tooth brushes, hair dryers, bottles of vitamins, etc.) I don't call it my messy, thrilling life for nothing.

The point? I suppose it's this: I'm signing off for a bit. Not forever, just a bit. I'll pop in periodically with a "Look at this!" and a "What do you think?" and an "Ooooh... try this recipe!" Other than that I may be a little scarce on the world wide web for a bit. But don't worry. Please don't worry. I'll be happily busy, preparing a place that we all might, in some way, consider a little piece of home... even if it's only in our dreams.

Until we meet next, enjoy your summer. And know that somewhere out there, a busy, brown-haired girl thinks of you warmly and hopes for the day we can pull up some chairs and share a plate of homemade cookies.

Take good care. I'll see you soon. -Brin

(By the way, the Etsy shop will be updated Friday. See you there... see you then!)

Rich, Millie and the Saturday Morning Spirit

For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood...

-Ephesians 6:12

It was early this morning, the light a soft, golden glow behind the curtains. Millie woke me with a paw to the face. I rolled over and looked at the clock on the nightstand: almost six o'clock. I groaned.

We were at the back of the house, beginning to walk the long hall that splits Freeman House in half, when a voice stopped me still. "Brin, I'm in the bathroom." It was my brother, Rich. He's been staying here, on and off, for almost a year.

"I'm just taking Millie out," I said, looking at the puppy at my feet. Her tail was wagging.

"Um... hang on. I can take her out in a second." He sounded strange. Was he feeling well?

"I'm already up," I said.

"Wait, Brin, please wait a sec...". I ignored him and headed up the hall. He's not the one who has to clean up the dog's messes when I don't get her out in time.

We got to the door leading into the kitchen - at the exact place in the photo above - and I made a sharp right into the still-dark room. The kitchen's on the west side of the house - towards the center - and is one of the last places in the morning to wake up. I stumbled to the door. Instead of following me, Millie sat down in the hall, staring in at me.

"Come, Millie," I said, unlocking the sliding chain lock, the door knob, and easing the door open. "Let's go outside."

She didn't budge.

I was trying to decide whether to make coffee or ... could I go back to sleep?... when Rich appeared behind Millie in the door. "Come here," he hissed. I did.

"There is someone in the house. There was just someone in the house," he whispered.

"When?"

"Just now. I heard them walking through the front of the house. They just went out the kitchen door, right before you and Millie came up the hall. Look, I have chill bumps," he said, stretching his left arm out in front of me.

He did. I laughed. "There's no one here," I said loudly, punching at his arm. "The chain was locked. No one went out that door."

Rich grabbed my shoulders and looked at me, hard. I looked down at the floor. "No, Brin," he repeated. "I. Heard. Someone. Here. They went out that door."

Slowly, I looked up. We locked eyes. He look scared. My brother, freaked out. Huh. "What exactly did you hear?"

"Footsteps."

"Heavy footsteps? Where did they go?"

"No. Light. House shoes. Socks, maybe. I don't know. They shuffled. They walked slowly through the dining room and library and then down the hall, through the kitchen and out that door. I heard it open and then I heard it close."

"Well, at least it left," I joked. Silence. My brother. Ever the tell-it-as-it-is, 'you can't pull one over on me' country man. He looked up the hall and back at me, eyes as big as tea cup saucers.

A cold shiver, and my spine was tingling. It's always the library. People always hear footsteps in the library in this house. I have, once. Only once. Christmas night. Last year. I consider myself rather fearless and bold, but that night I got so afraid I called my neighbor, JoAnne, and was shaking so hard I could scarcely open the door when she flew up the porch. We sat in front of the tree and drank hot chocolate and I held her a Christmas hostage for three hours. It was the only time I've ever been frightened to stay at Freeman House.

I was remembering that, Rich still looking at me... looking over my shoulder... when Millie began to growl. I've heard her growl twice before: once at another dog and once at someone in Colorado. She is the quietest dog I've ever been around. But suddenly Millie stood to all fours, took a step into the kitchen and growled the longest, lowest, most frightening growl I'd ever heard.

Nope. I wasn't going back to sleep. Might as well make coffee.

Can't be sure what Rich heard or what Millie saw, but it's been silent as a tomb all morning. I had to convince my brother- promise him twice - that the door was definitely locked from the inside when I reached it. I've never seen my brother so shaken. And Millie wouldn't go through the kitchen to go outside this morning, preferring to sit and wait by the front door instead.

Strange. Strange, but not terrifying. Because we know what the Bible says, anyway: we're not up against flesh and blood. The rulers, authorities, cosmic powers and forces (all named in Ephesians 6:12) don't play by our rules. They're not limited to our spaces or times. We - you and I - are players in two realms... actors on two stages - a physical and a spiritual, but unfortunately for our human eyes, we can only see in the one.

Fortunately for our human hearts, though, we can still fight in the other.

In the meantime, maybe my Mom is right. Maybe I should get carpet. (wink)

Sights About Freeman House

Cure sometimes, treat often, comfort always.

-Hippocrates

There's nothing like being home when you're sick. Although there may be things to do and things left undone, home is a cure, a treatment, and a comfort all in one dose. Since I'm on three medications this morning and unable to keep hold of many coherent thoughts, I thought I'd simply share a few of my favorite sights from a very comfortable weekend.

Above, a country bouquet and a favorite old painting on an antique radio cabinet in the Freeman House Library. Outside it was storming... one of those summer lightning storms that sends you deeper into the couch and further into your book.

A quiet, still morning in the Irvin Room, where a reclaimed old mantle has been handpicked to adorn the soon-to-be-restored wood fireplace. The Irvin Room is my bedroom for now, but will eventually be one of the rooms available to rent here at Freeman House. Featuring a garden-view sitting room (above the sky-and-sea-blue hydrangeas planted by Ms. Freeman herself) and, of course, a fireplace opposite the bed, I have no doubt it will be the most popular. I love to curl up here and re-read the bundle of old love letters found in the walls of the house.

A morning garden plate. Despite the gardener's neglect, the green patch manages to turn out tomatoes, purple hull and cream peas, pumpkins, okra, squash, potatoes, green beans and herbs on a daily basis. The corn did rather poorly and will be stirred into a Cheddar Corn Chowder tonight.

Peas and magazines. With an ever-loyal and adorable chocolate-colored puppy at my feet.

More of Ms. Freeman's hydrangeas and a tile-etched sign for the property. Freeman House. Since 1896, this place is medicine for the soul and a quiet haven of rest for weary girls: Mrs. Connor, Mrs. Irvin, a series of women tenants, Ms. Freeman, and now me. Cure, treat and comfort: that's what these halls are....

I'd like to stay and chat, but cranberry apple tea and a book in the library is calling. I'll return when I feel a bit better. Enjoy the new week. -Brin