Annabelle's House

A couple of weeks ago, Emma Claire and I made our way to the Municipal Building (at least that's what I think it's called) to transfer utilities into our name. When I gave the clerk our new address, she beam, "Oh, you're moving into Annabelle's house." Uhm, o.k. I thought. This is a really small town.

I didn't think about it at first, but after we signed the dissertation of documents (including one that confirms you are the same person as other names used during your lifetime. Can you imagine how long that took me?) Myra Hale. Myra Katherine Hale. M.K. Hale. M.K. Hale Fritz. M.K. Fritz. Katherine Fritz (not sure about that one.) Myra Fritz. Myra Katherine Fritz. And finally, Myra Katherine Hale Fritz. Yes, a form for each one. Anyway, I didn't think about it at first, but after they handed us that key, I've given a great deal of thought to Ms. Annabelle.

Annabelle's house was built in 1973 and walking inside makes you feel as though you've entered the set of the Brady Bunch. Orange shag carpet. Orange sinks. Dark, dark (unbelievably dark) cabinets and paneling, and green and orange parrot curtains, and what I can only imagine to be original paint and carpeting in the upstairs bedrooms. But while I have been very anxious to bring some modern life to Teakwood Drive, I've also become increasingly sensitive that with every rip of the carpet and every stroke of the paintbrush we are tearing away bits and bits of Annabelle's history; her history in this home with family and friends. And even though I have never had the pleasure of meeting Ms. Annabelle; here, (from talking walls and chatty neighbors) is what I know.

I know she liked orange. Oh my gosh, did the lady like orange. I know she played bridge (and has a fancy cart/moving wet bar/card table and chairs to prove it.) I know she liked to entertain because in her custom made cabinetry there is a full length cabinet made especially to accommodate the leaves from her dining room table. I know she liked music and she either taught lessons or had a child who took for many years, for her closets were full of Hanon and Czerny and not just the average Bastien piano books. I know from Ross, (the 5th grader next door who seems to know everything) that lightening hit the front bush and that's why there's a gaping whole in it. I know that Annabelle picked up "helicopters" one-by-one from her yard. She was a perfectionist about her yard. I know (also from Ross, but confirmed from other neighbors who aren't 10) that her daughter was murdered 17 years ago and not too long after, she buried her son. He died while out for a run. I know that she is a Christian as evidenced by her Bibles and hymnals (many of which ended up in the trash because she had no living children to claim them,) and the "God is My Security System" sticker that faces out from the front window. I think I would have liked Ms. Annabelle; and certainly would have respected her, because if walls could talk they would tell me that of all the tragedy she faced, she never lost her faith.

Annabelle has dementia and she will never know the family that has taken up residence in the house that she built, but if I could meet her, I would want her to know that the Fritz's will take care of her house; they will take care of her yard (although picking up all the helicopters might be a stretch.) They will plant flowers and keep the grass green. They will play the piano and  fill the halls with music and the book stands with Bibles and hymnals. The will ride bikes down the street and swing at the nearby park. They will laugh and play and grow. They will fill Ms. Annabelle's house with love and kindness. And knowing all of this, I'm hoping that she will forgive us, later this week, when we bid a fond adieu to the orange kitchen sink, and, well the "God is Our Security System" sticker.  I know He is our Protector and I know He's hers as well. God Speed, Ms. Annabelle!