Here's a true story: About a month ago, I happened upon a vacant, old farmhouse for sale down Onemo. Wanting more to photograph the house and less to think of how I could never afford to purchase it, I bravely pulled right on in the driveway and commenced to taking pictures.
The house itself was marvelous, but this window in particular caught my eye.
Doesn't it look like your grandmother's windowsill? The poor woman is probably either in the nursing home or was recently called home - to The Big Home in the Sky--so they've put her lovely old farmhouse up for sale. (This is just my guess; for all I know the house belongs to some poor family of four, freshly moved here from Richmond, who finally had it up to here with the fiddler crab infestation in their yard, which of course is about one foot below sea level.)
Reflect on this window. Ponder those knickknacks.
I'll go first:
Her hair was in a bun, and she wore a dress every day. She could cook like nobody's fool and always wore an apron. Peanut butter cookies and hot apple pie were her specialties. Her husband died many years ago, but she stayed busy and enjoyed the company of her one best friend, who lived near by. This friend drove her to church every Sunday, and they had breakfast together every Wednesday. She always had pancakes; her friend had the eggs over easy. They went to the grocery store afterwards; Best Value was their favorite.
She loved flowers but in her later years found that gardening was too hard on her aching joints and weary body. Likewise she had to give up playing the piano but never tired of playing her old records of ragtime songs.
Then one day as she was dusting off the precious ceramic chickens proudly displayed on her windowsill, she parted the curtains to see some frizzy-haired lunatic pointing a camera at her. Ceramic Chicken Lady screamed! Chesapeake Bay Woman screamed! Then they both had heart attacks and blacked out.
p.s. Of course that's not a true story. I just created it in
Now it's your turn to make up a story or at least tell me what comes to mind when you see this quaint window and try to picture who used to live there.