the estate

i bought a house. it's a big house, with four bedrooms and three fireplaces and a library. it has a wrap-around front porch and green shutters and a turret (from the Italian word toretta, "little tower.) it has fruit trees--apple, peach, pear and quince. it has raspberry bushes and grape vines and a basement door that leads out to the garden.

i bought a house with 65 years worth of scrap metal and old wood stored in its basement and attic; with hundreds of jars of old, homemade jams and fruits and tomato sauces crammed in its cupboards; with trunks full of irish linens and floral, embroidered hankies.

i bought a house, and in two weeks we filled an entire dumpster with just a fraction of what was inside. the plates and glasses and candleholders and encyclopedias and records and maps and nails and ice skates and skis and suitcases and desks are all still in there, waiting for me.

i bought a house on the street i grew up on. i bought the house next to my parents' house, the house i grew up in. i bought the house i used to walk by as a kid, whose windows i peered into, trying to sneak peeks past the red curtains of the library, to see the shelves of books that lined the walls. i didn't intend to buy a house. i didn't even intend to be back in this city yet, but here i am. this blog is about the house i bought. (we call it "the estate.")