One Photograph, One Story
As Though We Planned It
Twenty-nine years, a Mosher chair, a ten-dollar mirror, a five-dollar clock, and a view of House 173 I'd never really noticed.
Sometimes you have to take something away before you can see what's been there all along.
In this case, it was the sheers.
We had taken them off the hallway windows and glass door to wash them. Nothing noteworthy about that. They've hung there for years, softening the light and giving us a little privacy from the porch.
But with them gone, I walked through the hallway, although perhaps after twenty-nine years I should start calling it the vestibule. Sounds much more sophisticated, and stopped.
I'd never noticed how pretty that view was.
And I've been walking past it since 1997.
It Started With the Door
Without the sheers, I could really see the old door.
Its glass panes became little picture frames. Beyond them was the newly remodeled porch in Garden Grove and Kiss of Mint, the colors we spent a somewhat ridiculous seventeen paint samples choosing this year.
The dark wood framed all that green beautifully.
Then I started looking at the photograph more closely and realized the door was only part of the story.
Nearly everything else in the picture had one too.
That White and Green Chair
Look straight through the door.
That chair was here before we were.
We inherited it from the Moshers when we bought House 173 twenty-nine years ago. We found it in the basement painted yellow with orange trim.
Yes. Yellow with orange trim.
For our first porch renovation, we painted it red for a little pop of color. The chair volunteered... or, more accurately, wasn't consulted.
For the second renovation, it became white with light mint-green accents. When we remodeled the porch for the third time this year, I left it alone.
I've always loved that chair, not because it's valuable or exceptional.
I love it because it was theirs.
The Moshers sat in it. We sit in it.
And twenty-nine years after finding it in their basement, there it is, framed almost perfectly through their old door.
The Ten Dollar Mirror
To the left is a big old dresser mirror we've had almost as long.
We found it at a rummage sale for about ten dollars. Since dresser mirrors aren't designed to hang on walls, I used screws, washers and some substantial wire.
Actually, "substantial" may understate the engineering involved.
I doubled about three feet of wire and attached it to some pretty hefty screws.
That mirror wasn't going anywhere.
Possibly ever.
Naturally, I'd bought about twenty-five feet of wire. The remaining twenty-two feet went to the workshop, where I still occasionally cut off a piece.
At the current rate, House 173 should run out sometime around 2187.
To me, photography is an art of observation. It’s about finding something interesting in an ordinary place… I’ve found it has little to do with the things you see and everything to do with the way you see them. — Elliott Erwitt
The Five-Dollar Clock
On the right is another rummage-sale find.
Five dollars.
The woman selling the Biedermeier-style wall clock told me it didn't keep time.
Naturally, I bought it.
I knew absolutely nothing about clocks, which fits a longstanding House 173 tradition: buy something broken first, then figure out whether I possess any knowledge whatsoever about fixing it.
Fortunately, it wasn't really broken. The pendulum and lyre just needed adjustment.
Five bucks.
Not bad for something that's hung there for most of our twenty-nine years.
Somehow, It All Goes Together
None of this was planned.
The mirror wasn't bought to match the door. The clock wasn't bought to match the mirror. The chair certainly wasn't chosen to complete some decorating scheme.
We didn't even choose the door. It came with the house.
Yet the dark wood of the mirror and clock nearly matches the door, giving our little hallway... ummm, excuse me... vestibule, a surprisingly coordinated appearance.
As though we'd planned it.
We absolutely did not.
Twenty-Nine Years in One Photograph
At first I thought I'd simply photographed a pretty view the sheers had been hiding.
Now I see a little history of our life at House 173.
There's the old door and the Mosher chair. That chair carries memories of three versions of the porch—red for the first, white and mint for the second, and unchanged for the third.
There's a ten-dollar mirror secured against anything short of a direct artillery strike.
There's a five-dollar broken clock that wasn't broken.
And somewhere in the workshop are twenty-two feet of nearly thirty-year-old wire that I'm quite certain will come in handy someday.
Some things were already here. Some we rescued. Some we bought because they were cheap. Some we fixed. Some we painted three different colors.
And somehow, after twenty-nine years, they've all become part of House 173.
All it took for me to notice was washing the sheers.
Funny.
Sometimes the house doesn't need another project.
Sometimes you just need to get something out of the way long enough to see what you've already got.
Keep Wandering
There’s more to see around House 173. Choose one below and wander in.
Look at That Snow
A little snow, a streetlight and an ordinary city street become something worth stopping to watch from the front porch of House 173.
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Faith in a Seed
Our Canadian hemlock (Tsuga canadensis) eventually became a substantial tree, which makes what's under that magnifying glass seem even more improbable.
Hey, thanks for stopping by - see ya' next time
