The House with the Golden Windows

I’ve always loved the European tradition of naming your home.  For years I’ve thought about what I’d name mine, if I were going to do it.  I wanted to use Fox because it’s my last name and such a great name, but I couldn’t come up with anything that sounded right.

Today as I washed the eight floor to ceiling windows in my daylight basement, I thought about my Grandmother.  Years ago when my uncle was a baby she wrote a story for him titled, The House with the Golden Windows. 

The first time I saw the sun shining on my house as I drove up the long drive from the main road, I thought about Grandma and her book.  My house looked like it had golden windows.

Grandma always wanted to be a published writer.  She wrote five books, one for each of her children and lots of poems!  I am lucky enough to have three of her books.  I’m unsure where the other two went.  I also have a small spiral notebook with some of her poems in it.

Grandma was an amazing lady.  She was bright and wanted so much to be a teacher, but her father thought education was wasted on girls.  How sad is that?  But this was back in the early 1900’s, and he was raising a family by himself, having just lost his wife to childbirth.  He probably wanted Grandma to get married so he had one less mouth to feed.

After she was married and had children, Grandma dreamed of becoming a writer.  I don’t know what stopped her.  To my knowledge, she never wrote another fiction story after the 5 books were penned for her children.

When she was dying, she told my mother to “finish” her work.  We wondered if she meant her writing or taking care of my grandfather who was in bad health too.  Knowing Grandma, it was probably taking care of him because he was her world and she had cared for him for so many years.

Now, as I sit here thinking about Grandma, I realize that part of her legacy to me is a longing to be a writer and a name for my house:  The House with the Golden Windows.  It has a nice sound to it, doesn’t it?

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