Part 2 of Corsicana Memorial Day trip 2011....the house at 212

Ever since we sold 212, my aunts house in Corsicana, we've continued to do a drive by to enjoy the view. It's been difficult to watch as its care has gone from good to bad and now the worst. When it went from the lovely shade of cream to canary yellow with super green trim, it was tough to take. It was also a sad sight when the front porch started leaning more and more. As the years have progressed, the well being of the house hasn't. Recently it's seemed to be abandoned with one part of a wall being boarded up. It's so depressing to know the charming old house is slowly and surely dying.

On Friday night a car load of us made our regular night ride into town and we drove by 212. It seemed obvious no one was living in it, so on Saturday afternoon I announced I was going to go have a look around the yard and see if it was possible to get in and do a walk through. I wanted my girls, who have no memory of it, to see what it looked like inside.

A bunch of us loaded up in the car and went to do a possible break and enter. I drove the route we always used to go; it took me back to those wonderful days when Mollie and Nina were still alive and lived there happy and healthy. As I pulled in the driveway for the first time in over 18 years, it sure would've been nice to see the two little ladies coming out the screen door to greet us one more time.

Walking around the yard and having a closer view revealed the house looked even more battered than could be seen from the street. After a quick check of the kitchen door, we found it unlocked, and without hesitation went in. As awful as the exterior looked, the interior was worse. Time and uncaring stewards had taken a heavy toll on the once beautiful clapboard home. There was no running water or electricity. Trash and unclaimed articles were found in every room. As we walked around, it was obvious the bones of the house were still there, beautiful french doors, glass door knobs, push button light switches and the tiny closet under the stairs. But the loving stewardship for the Walker family home clearly ended the day it was sold. It was heartbreaking to see.

The swinging door separating the kitchen and dining room (that I used to swing as a hobby) had been removed, no where to be found. I can't remember a time I was ever disappointed about who or what came through that swinging door. Mollie and Nina served many a spaghetti dinner, orange sherbert and lemon cheesecake walking through it. They took such care and pride in serving their guests at their lovely cherry dining room table. It's now been replaced by a waterbed......outrageous.

Gone are the inviting smells of that great old house, and now instead are the most offensive odors in every room.

We walked every inch of the downstairs looking in closets and reminiscing as we went. The stairs now covered in hideous dirty carpet led us to see more destruction like wall panels pulled away and entire windows missing. Curtains flapping in the breeze indicated weather occurring outside was happening inside as well. The banister was intact, maybe the best thing in the whole place.

This little nook held the cutest phone table and chair with an old timey black phone. We spent many an hour in this spot playing office and taking care of important imaginary business.


Melanie has the telly table at her house and my brother Frank's granddaughters played with it this past weekend. If you're counting, that's four generations it's survived and served.


It's worth one more pic.


In each room we entered there was more trash to be found, boxes of books and even a TV. It was shocking to observe. But there was still one place I was determined to see one more time. It was my motivation for going in the first place. For me, this one room held more fear, mystery, romance and intrigue than any other place I've ever been in my life. I was hoping the little stairs still remained, and as I rounded the corner into the bathroom closet, there they were. Just as I remembered.


As I tested the steps on my way, each was solid. And then, with one push of the trap door, I was in the attic at 212. Hot, dusty and a breeze blowing in from more than one hole, I couldn't believe I was there. And in an instant, I was transported back to a time when a fearful little girl's curiosity was greater than her "ghosts" in the attic. I don't know how many times I asked Mollie to go up the little stairs with me to explore the treasures tucked inside the trunks lying amongst the rafters. This was a TV show attic housing photographs and dresses and hats and army uniforms and old wallets belonging to people I was related to but knew nothing about. I remember asking hundreds of questions about everything I found, all the while imagining what the people and their lives were like. I know I had a romantic idea of what I wanted it to have been. I envisioned them walking the uneven red brick sidewalks in the cool evening breeze, speaking to neighbors as they passed each house. In my mind's eye they were wearing fantastic stylish clothes of the 1940's and driving old open air cars and loving life. That's how I always dreamed it to be.

Of course all the trunks are gone and the attic is empty but my memories of it will never be. So on that afternoon in May, after I had looked and pondered and reminisced, I stood alone in one of the most fearful places of my life. It took 52 years, but I was unafraid and wishing I didn't have to leave. I could've sat there for hours while straining my ears for the sounds of Mollie and Nina downstairs calling me to supper.

The rafters look quite lovely in the photos.


This is the box that Howard built in the attic to store quilts. It's the box that Melanie and I thought possibly held dead bodies, and made us look suspiciously at our Aunt Mollie. Could she or couldn't she? Surely she couldn't. But what if she could!?


I love the little window where you can see the backyard.


Carlie looks surprised. The chimney has lost some of it's bricks. If you go looking for em, you won't find em.




This roof sheltered many people I have loved through joy and tragedy.


A little peek outside.


I didn't want to, but it was time to go.






And that's how it's done.


And with this last photo, I'm not sure I'll ever see it again.


We took many pictures, something we wished we'd done when the house was at its finest. This door on the left leads to my grandmother's room, which, next to the attic, I found to be the scariest room in the house. Gee's (my grandmother) room was at the top of the stairs and in order to get anywhere upstairs, it had to be passed. I was terrified of this room and once I reached the second floor, I made sure never to turn my back on it. My youthful reasonable fear was that my sweet and loving dead grandmother would open the door just long enough to grab me and pull me into a great abyss never to be seen or heard from again. It was as real to me as the sun in the sky. As I've stated many times before, I was a small idiot. No amount of discussion with any adult could do anything to assuage my fears. Now, as I've grown older and wiser, I realize it's possible I was wrong and ridiculous.

The door on the right leads to the sleeping porch where a window unit air conditioner set to frigid temperatures made for the best sleeping. This room housed the most comfortable beds with soft white sheets and feather pillows. We would snuggle down in the beds while reading comic books about Archie, Betty and Veronica, Casper the friendly ghost and Richie Rich, until we finally fell asleep. It was the most wonderful nap imaginable, even though the evil room was just RIGHT THERE. I have no explanation for my young ignorant thoughts.

This is the hardwood floor in my aunt Mollie's room. It's still beautiful even though the rest of the room is in much disarray.


As I said before the smells in the house were foul and offensive, but the most wonderful thing occurred when I came to my aunt Mollie's closet.


I opened it and by some miracle, it smelled just as lovely as it did when it belonged to her. I could've stayed the whole day trying to sniff it all in. That fragrance brought back such memories of when I would play with her purses and clomp around in her shoes. It made me smile knowing at least one imprint was still intact. And I was reminded again of her lovely pink gingham dress that was my favorite. She was such a grand human being.


A view from Mollie's room into the backyard. That's Olivia, Becky, Carrie and Melanie.




Photo op on the stairs.


This may or may not be a part of a window we found lying in the attic and liberated from the premises. Notice the car in the backyard. Double ugh.


One more opportunity for a photo op on the front porch.


After our extended exploration, it was finally time to go, and over the next few hours we talked about buying the house and moving it out to the farm and wishing and hoping and wanting. Not sure any of that will ever happen. But this I DO know, I'm grateful for my memories of Mollie, Nina and my uncle Jay living in that big house and loving it as if it were another member of the family. I'm grateful that God gave us to them and them to us. How lovely it would be to once again sit with them around the kitchen table enjoying each other's company. I would love to tell them, "Hey, I finally get it. This place wasn't so scary but oh by the way, DID anyone ever die here?" Of course not being scared.....just being curious.....maybe.

One final thought, even if the house eventually falls to the ground...and I really hope it doesn't....the lives lived there will be forever respected and remembered by the people who knew and loved them when it was ours. Uncaring people can trash a house but no one can ever ruin our memories of the fun we had when 212 was home. The people who loved it will forever live in our hearts and dreams.

No need for cameras when you have a file full of memories ever at the ready in many grateful hearts.