A House to Dream By

I stride up Lonsdale headed to do business. Fifty feet from our building I spy the open house sign. Bonus, bonus, bonus! The heritage house a couple of doors up from our apartment is for sale and today, a week day, is open house for realtors. I take a sharp left, go through the bold black door and step into another world.

"Are you a realtor?" I'm asked. No just a dreamer I want to reply.
"I've always wanted to know what this house looks like on the inside," I say. "I'm not in the market to buy."
"Well, today you're going to find out," says the realtor. I sure am and I'm delighted.

Being a lookey-loo, I feast my eyes as quickly as I can without being intrusive. The realtor trusts me to go upstairs on my own but keeps watch at the bottom of the stairs. I'm only here to steal ideas, storylines, atmosphere and history. I'm smitten with the romance of the house: high ceilings, a marble fireplace, bold windows, interleading rooms, crystal chandeliers and the black and white Italian tile. There is ample evidence that the current occupants are artists and musicians.

As I come down the stairs, I start to see a story unfold: a story of intrigue, conflict, resolution and life. Somehow I know that should I ever write a novel it will be centred on a house. And not a house of great grandeur, I don't care for large homes; they are often all show, little class and no character. No, it will be a house similar to this one. But even this one will need some alterations to go with the story.

I head back up Lonsdale redecorating the kitchen and bathroom. I keep some of the furniture, especially the large white framed mirror propped against the wall in the dining room. I change the colour on the walls in the living room; it will need to be a bolder and stronger colour to go with the story. The bedroom gets a dramatic bed with posts and bright art on the walls. I leave the desk just where it is but the artist in the house will be a writer not a painter and the musician will play the piano, not an electric guitar.

My dreams stop with the red light that tells me not to cross the busy intersection. Before I bring that house to life in words, I have bills to pay and accounting work to do. I cross on the green light and step into the life that helps to pay those bills and one day fund a dream.