Peculiar...

As I awoke one morning this week from an Ambien-induced fog, Ron told me we were headed to the home of Winnie Goldsmith (a former owner of Chestnut House) to help her gather a few remaining things she couldn't move by herself. Our reward for this neighborly deed would be a beautiful 1920's glider for our front porch. What he failed to mention was that he had been "duped". We had to drive to Peculiar, MO to retrieve it. We live on 6th Street. Her house was off of 275th Street. You do the math. Let's just say when I saw signs pointing us towards Springfield, I panicked. All is well though, and the glider is where it belongs. Up until last week, we were going to rip the porch right off the front of the house. Now we can't imagine the house without it.

It has been a wonderful week at Chestnut House. The social life of our new home was introduced quietly on Tuesday, when an intimate gathering of friends celebrated Jeff and Stacie's birthdays.

I've thought a lot this week about the power of friendship. How a disparate group, bound only by their genuine affection for each other, can create moments of magic. The reading of the "Big Lebowski" in Scott and Jen's backyard on Monday raised over twelve hundred dollars for an actor friend battling cancer. These staged readings of movies, that started as a tongue-in-cheek experiment at the Student Union, have taken on a life of their own, becoming creative (and philanthropic) events. I couldn't be prouder.

The same fond feeling spilled over to a gathering at Chestnut House Saturday, when our tribe of artists and bon vivants chose to spend their evening reminiscing amid the rubble. Ron and Cousin Linda brought me hydrangeas from an abandoned house on the corner to help decorate for the evening. They also brought me a wasp, several ants and a Praying Mantis that decided to stay for the party. We were going to usher him out the front door until we realized he likes to eat flies. Now we're thinking of legally adopting him. No one seemed to mind the peeling paint, the missing walls, the layers of debris trapped precariously above their heads. When Ron served his paninis and corn-jalepano fritters among a gourmet potluck supplied by our guests, I truly felt our "house" turn to "home".
(Ron, by the way, created everything on a griddle and a George Forman Grill. I can't imagine what he'll do when our stove finally gets hooked up!)

Our porch became everyone's favorite "room", and we all jockeyed for a spot on the glider. We had to institute a "no saved seats" policy to guarantee everyone a turn. Ron's "Dog and Waddle" fence in the front yard was also a major hit. Thanks to our friend Joanne, we learned the proper English name for it, and don't have to call it a "Bunny Fence" anymore.

Ron and I talk often about "blessing" the house. Now I realize there's no need for sage, horseshoes, or jumping over broom handles. Our house is already blessed.

-Jon (and Ron and Atticus)