The Ink Spots the Best Things in Life Are Free (please enjoy their music while you read this post)
I was thinking back to one of the most unusual estates that I ever had the pleasure of investigating and i thought of the unique quirky little cottage in the woods. It had been built by a former ship captain
in the style of a ship. I wish I had thought to take photos, but here are some unique examples of other homes built in the semblance of a ship
Located down the street from where I used to live, I had actually seen the owner a time or two through the years. We had met when she stopped by my open house when I was selling someone’s estate doll collection.
Her husband the ship captain, had sailed on many years earlier. She said that she loved dolls but she didn’t have money to buy any. She also told me that she was legally blind. We had a nice neighborly chat but i was busy and didn’t want her to linger because I had dolls to sell and customers with money, and then she was on her way.
After her death a former student of hers was given the challenge of disposing of the contents of the home so that it could be sold.
Her home looked a lot like this at first glance
here are some more really amazingly weird homes if you are interested:
I was called to help clean out the quirky little house, which was barely visible from the street, having been consumed by the overgrowth of trees and weeds. It’s charm was not appreciated by everyone but I found it to be like one of those places I had visited many times in my dreams. It was a magical place full of tiny treasures. Treasures picked up on excursions abroad as well as from neighbors trash piles. Inside was as surreal as the outside. Amid the overgrowth I found the yard full of little seating areas with vignettes scattered with litter that had been “one man’s trash”……..
I came to find out that Dreama had spent her career teaching music within the public school system. During the summers in the fifties she traveled the world with her husband.
Her home was covered inside as well, every square inch! She had fine art and magazine clippings, both taped or thumbtacked to the walls and ceilings. There were chipped and cracked figurines, tarnished brass and scratched tole and toile accessories, torn tapestries and moth eaten scottish tartans. There were compact built-in drawers and fold down shelving designed with precision by the ship captain, and they were filled with collected collectibles, dirty and stained and oddly assembled. Her bathroom was covered in pink flowered motif collectibles and towels and vases and plastics. Her beds, more built-ins, were cozy and covered in old throw pillows, needlepoints and quilts and linens and crochetwork, hodgepodged softgoods that made me sneeze just looking at them. There were dressing table containers filled with broken beads and sterling and gold jewelry bits, pearls and rhinestones, cabochons and crystals. Did I mention books yet? Stationery? Postcards and Travel guides? The kitchen was filled too, cooking and serving pieces, potting containers and chalkware vegetables. As weird as this may sound, I loved it all. You see, everything had a design of some kind…there was nothing that was plain or solid or smooth or flat. The house and the yard were beautiful. Being a product designer and a collector, I fell in love with every smidgen of Dreama’s collection and every inch of her house and yard, as dusty as it was.
In her later years Dreama had arranged her assembled curiosities and vignettes by touch and feel. As she aged and lost her eyesight and retreated deeper into her cottage in the woods, I am certain that she had a lifetime of memories to sustain her. She had her memories and her collections, and these made her happy. She had her piano too, it was in a strange little sliding door room on the side of the house, that may have been a carport. It was covered with baskets and figurines, and was crammed in among other found pieces of broken furniture and remnants of old potted plants. I couldn’t tell when the last time was that she had played that piano, but i bet it sounded wonderful. As wonderful as her voice and her memories would have been to hear about…….
Dreama surrounded herself with this beauty, and in her old age and blindness that beauty became but a memory. A memory that I had the pleasure, and i mean the ultimate pleasure, of discovering and touching and cleaning and sorting and assembling and selling and wondering about. The items that had been collected for free, as Dreama had ambled down the road of her life. That road was a big one, it went from her neighborhood in Greensboro to the streets of Madrid. When she came down my road that summer morning, to touch and feel the dolls that I had gathered to sell, I wish now that I had taken her up on that invitation. That morning as she had left, she had asked me to come and visit her sometime. She told me she lived down the road, in the cottage on the hill, and that I was welcome to stop in and visit with her any time…or she said I could just come and sit in her yard. I wish I had done that. Maybe next time someone invites me i will take them up on that offer, before it is too late.