I recently had a reoccurrence of a conversation that I have had more than once since Rosalie, my wife, passed away in May of 2011. Shortly after her death, a real estate agent I knew called and queried me regarding my home. Did I want to downsize? Did I want to move? My answer to her was NO! She has called more than once, under the guise that she just wants to know how I’m doing. Her final comment always is, “Well if your thinking about selling, let me know.” This week, out of the blue, another agent called and stated how the housing market is hot and they are looking for homes to sell. She said, “It is a buyers market and it would be a great time for me to sell.” She said the house next door to me sold for a fantastic price. Again, I stated I wasn’t interested and told her not to call. When and if I do sell, I’ll find my own agent.
Others, friends of mine, with the best of intentions have made comments about me living in such a big house by myself. They asked, “Don’t you think it would be a great idea to downsize and find a place a bit smaller, a condo, where I wouldn’t have to worry about snow or yard maintenance. Life would be so much easier.” Others have said, “Aren’t there just too many memories in that house. Don’t you want to put that behind you and start life anew?” I know that they all want to do what they believe is best for me.
However, as long as I am physically capable, mentally competent and financially secure I plan to stay in this house.
Why, you might ask. Back in 1999, when I was seriously thinking about retirement I did my best to convince Rosalie that we should head to warmer climate upon my retirement. She was adamantly against moving. Basically, she enjoyed the four seasons plus Christopher, our son, lived in New Hampshire. End of story. Hindsight being 20/20, I’m glad we stayed. If we moved I would now be alone, miles away from any family, especially my son.
My next suggestion was, let’s build our retirement home. Rosalie reluctantly agreed. We found a plot of land, hired an architect and signed a contract with a builder. We moved into our new home on August 29th, 2000. Rosalie and I had worked with the architect and contractor. We knew we wanted the Master Bedroom on the first floor with a walk-in shower and a jacuzzi. Rosalie had an arthritic hip, and in our old home, she had a difficult time getting into the shower. I, of course, wanted the jacuzzi. I was and still am into physical fitness and I figured a jacuzzi would provide relief for sore muscles.
The kitchen was all Rosalie. She wanted something compact enough that she could get from stove/oven to sink to countertops with minimum effort. She wanted granite countertops and a double oven. She wanted lots of cabinets. Believe it or not, in this day and age, I had to convince her that we were going to have a dishwasher. In our old house she never let me install a dishwasher. Yep, she said she didn’t mind washing dishes. Of course, over the holidays, or when we hosted parties, I bet she thought that it would have been nice to have had a dishwasher. Fortunately, our guests, usually or pseudo-adopted daughters helped with the dishes.
Rosalie insisted on having the clothes washer and dryer on the first floor. That was a no brainer. Especially now, since I have to do my own laundry.
Rosalie found two Italian sisters to paint a mural in our foyer. The lead artist did paint scenery for broadway shows, both in NY and in Boston. Rosalie selected a painting of Lake Como in Italy. She also selected a drawing of the Goddess Diana for one of the walls.The artist did her best to portray Rosalie in the mural as Diana, the Huntress. It wasn’t a bad portrayal of Rosalie when she was healthy. The painting of Lake Como depicts several homes along the waterfront. Rosalie would tell guests that one of the houses belonged to George Cooney, and the one next to it, was ours. A few actually believed her and asked more questions. Yes, Rosalie did have a sense of humor.
Rosalie wanted a statue for our back yard. We couldn’t find one of Diana, the Huntress, but we did find one of Vesta. She is the virgin goddess of the hearth, home and family in Roman religion. Vesta’s presence is symbolized by the sacred fire that burned at her hearth and temples. Her closest Greek equivalent is Hestia. We installed an Arbor over Vesta.Rosalie would frequently visit the statue, even during the winter.
I always told Rosalie that she missed her calling. She should’ve been an interior decorator. Everything in the house is pure Rosalie. We bought furniture together, but she is the one who selected each and every piece. All the drawings and paintings hanging our our walls is what Rosalie selected. Who was I to argue. She just had an eye for interior decorating.
People may accuse me of living in the past since I haven’t made any significant changes in the house. Yes, I did have the walls painted, but that was it. When it came to the way things were laid out in the house, I didn’t change a thing. The pots, pans, dishes, silverware and the closets are the way Rosalie set things up. Yes, I did donate her clothes and other items of hers to Goodwill. I gave away her favorite leather coat and a few pieces of jewelry and other goodies to friends of ours, friends of hers, people I knew who would appreciate and value them. This action made me feel good. All of the pictures that Rosalie had me hang up are still where she wanted them. Rosalie was good at organizing items that made her tasks easier. Why change it?
We lived in our old home for thirty years and in our new home for nearly eleven years. Yes, there are lots of good memories here. I have fond memories in each and every room; all for different reasons. It makes me feel good to reminiscence about the good times we had in this house. What comes to mind so frequently are the parties and dinners we hosted, the Samhain Celebrations, business dinners and the simple joy of just having a few friends over for dinner. One party in particular, was for a close friend of ours from Raytheon. His name was Pat. He was the one who did all the paperwork and assisted Rosalie with shots, visa forms and more. His efforts allowed us to head to Korea right after we were married. He didn’t know the party was for him. Pat was diagnosed with colon cancer and his time was limited. Rosalie and I rounded up as many of the people that knew him and invited them to our home. Rosalie, as usual, did a wonderful job of hosting the party. Lots of food, good company and plenty to drink. Rosalie always made too much food, never wanting anyone to leave hungry. This gathering brought Pat to tears. We were happy that we were able to do this for him. I should mention that Rosalie was most satisfied that we gave him a respectful send off while he could still enjoy it. All in all, we had many good times together and with others in our home, now, my home.
Most of all, what I remember vividly, is when it was just the two of us. We would start out our day with having coffee in bed, just talking about nothing in particular. Some of our best times were sitting in our three-seasons room. Me having a cocktail before dinner and Rosalie usually having water or nothing and just talking. It seemed like we were never at a loss for words. It was enjoyable. Many spring, summer and fall evenings we would just sit in that room and enjoy the view and each others company. We didn’t always have to talk.
Typically over the weekend, I would find a recipe to try. We laughed and joked about Rosalie being my prep cook and me being the chef. Yeah, right! Often she would have to save my rear by intervening in correcting something I was doing wrong. I have to admit, I don’t always follow the directions. With Rosalie, cooking came so easily to her that she was always a step or two ahead of me. Yes, she certainly saved more than one of my gourmet meals.
You may find this hard to believe but there are times when I feel Rosalie’s spirit around. It seems like she is looking over my shoulder and keeping me from doing something stupid like burning my dinner. Yes, I do a lot of my own cooking, but I miss my prep chef. I guess I could go on and on about my rationale for not wanting to move.
In conclusion, I don’t want to move away from the reminisces that I hold dear, especially the feeling that Rosalie is nearby.
Ron Penczak 