A Short Story for Victoria Magazine

   

I follow Victoria magazine on social media.

It is by far my favorite magazine.

I still have some of my mother's editions from the 1980's and 90's.

Their more recent ones are just as elegant and beautiful. 

I have always appreciated that they seem to have remained loyal to traditional decor, and not succumbed to the modern trends. 

A week or so ago I saw a post from Victoria's Facebook site inviting short stories from readers to be submitted for possible publication.

The thought of writing a short story and submitting it to Victoria seemed luxurious, and besides, what do I have to lose?

I couldn't resist!

After a trip down memory lane, and about an hour at my computer, I was clicking "submit."

What they wanted was very short, only around 600-700 words. But it was very satisfying!

Who knows if I'll ever hear from them, so I thought I'd better save my story somewhere. 

I decided to park it here on my blog for safekeeping.

Here is my short story for your enjoyment, and also "for the record," as I always say.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

As a young city girl, visits to Grandma and Grandpa's were a real treat. In a quaint town, on a sparkling river, their yellow farmhouse stood, ready to invite me into an adventure. There were kittens in the barn waiting to be named. My mother's childhood box of Barbies waiting to be played with. The hammock between the pines waiting to be swung on.

My grandparents, being ahead of their time, bought the place in run-down condition, renovating it themselves long before it was fashionable. By the time my grandmother was done with it, elegant rose wallpaper hung in the bright, cheerful kitchen where she cooked for us every visit. Oil on canvas still lifes in antique frames hung in the dining room where we ate at a beautifully set table every Christmas. White upholstered couches faced the wood burning fireplace where I sat on the floor to play while the adults chatted.

I didn't know it then, but that house was wrapping its magical web around my heart. The more memories I made there, the more I became entangled. It was a comfortable house, but beautiful. Warmth and love lived there.

Sometimes I would be invited for a sleepover. These visits were extra exciting and very much anticipated. In the summertime it meant trips to the beach that was just across the street. Followed by a walk down to the ice cream store to enjoy a scoop of Blue Moon on a waffle cone while my suit air dried in the breeze.

Once bathed and back home, Grandma's four poster canopy bed with chenille quilt embraced me as I crawled into it so she could read Little Red Riding Hood to me for the hundredth time. In the morning, Grandpa, a gentle man who was not much for words, would pour me a glass of orange juice, and himself a cup of black coffee. Then he would sit down at the kitchen table next to me, newspaper in hand, while we quietly waited together for Grandma to wake up. 

It was in those reflective, morning moments that the value of a peace-filled homelife made its etch upon my heart.

In time, however, my grandparents sold the yellow farmhouse to move on to their next endeavor. For the first time in my young life I knew what it meant to grieve over a house. I was growing up and moving on myself. But the memories that were made there remained dormant deep within me.

Years later they surfaced. As all childhoods must one day come to an end, I married, and a few years after my husband and I bought a farmhouse of our own. It, too, was in run-down condition and we threw ourselves into restoring it. (The apple must not have fallen far from the tree, because this also was during a time before it was fashionable.)

By the time I was done with it, rose paper and oil on canvas paintings graced my walls. White couches faced the fireplace, and strong coffee was being made in abundance.

We are still in this house, raising our four children on antiques, barn cats, and beautifully set Christmas tables. With the hope that our homelife will etch itself upon their hearts. And that they will one day say, "It was a comfortable house, but beautiful. Warmth and love lived there."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

🌷🏡🌷

~ Courtney