The Vestibule

    Mi Casa, Es Su Casa

The house on North Van Pelt Street would never be considered a ‘High-Value’property; the surrounding neighborhood alone assured any wary visitor of that. No matter how hard you tried, you could not dress it up without throwing good money after bad. It possessed none of the desirable attributes that are described on real estate websites; such as curb appeal, an expansive backyard, or even a garage. It wasn’t located in a great school district, or near the hub of cultural events, or artistic venues. In truth, outside of ‘fixer-upper,’ or ‘starter home’, there weren’t any positive descriptors that could be applied.

Situated in the middle of the block, on the odd side of the street, it was like any other North Philly rowhouse; modest-shabby in its appearance, and attached on both sides to a string of similarly modest-shabby houses. The facade, which at one time was red pointed brick, was now faded to a muddy brown; and the 15x13 foot space of ‘land’ in front of the house was nothing more than dull, grimy concrete. There wasn’t a tree to be found on the entire block. A flower growing in a flower pot, or a dandelion growing in a crack in the pavement, would’ve been as out of place as a daisy growing in the  desert. The house stood (as did all the other houses on the street), as a testament to a long-forgotten past; an aging shell on a decaying street, in a run-down neighborhood in North Philadelphia. 

Even so, for me it was home. It may have been drab and dreary on the outside, but inside it was warm and cheerful; a refuge and a safe haven for as long as I can remember. I’d learned the crafts of crochet, knitting, and how to sew by hand. The pastel colored walls held memories of tea parties, with tea poured out of a sterling silver tea set; and Christmas butter cookies, the edges perfectly browned, served on her good china. I regularly put on talent shows, and performed all of the roles. Story time was excellent because she did voices and didn’t mind being silly. On evenings when the skies released torrents of rain and bone rattling thunder, the flashes of lightning provided the perfect backdrop for a scary story. Other times I would just sit in the window alcove and enjoy the show. 

I learned the rules of etiquette, specifically what a lady does, and what a lady does not do, along with self-esteem, creativity and individuality. Most importantly,I was taught The Ten Commandments. As a result, I can testify, Proverbs 22:6 is true. 

Elizabeth ‘Nanna’ Nichols shared pearls of wisdom while we played Checkers, or 3-dimensional tic-tac-toe. Life lessons were learned sitting on the floor having my scalp oiled with Sulfur 8. I hated the smell, but she would say: ‘It’ll make your hair grow;’ - and it did!

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