Post by thestoryteller20 on Nov 18, 2005 23:44:30 GMT -5
When I arrived at 2714 Cushman Road at 10 AM, I saw the realtor waiting, as he waved. I must admit that the white rambler house with blue trim, surrounded by a white picket fence didn't cry out, "Buy Me"! But it had potential for an "old fixer upper type guy" like me, who had just retired.
Mr. Jenkins was a pot bellied gentleman who needed only a white beard to resemble "Santa". We shook hands, and I saw the folder in his hands, a sign that he was eager to answer any question I might ask. The front yard was plain and simple, with a large oak tree, a lawn in need of mowing, and overgrown weeds in the rose garden by the front porch.
When we entered the front door, it opened into the livingroom, with a convenient side closet. A fireplace was off set to one corner. A four light brass ceiling light would provide ample light. The walls were freshly painted white, though I would have preferred an off white color, but that could be remedied. I followed Mr. jenkins into the kitchen, which was rather nice. The counters and cabinets were located just within reach of someone who liked to cook.
That was when I noticed the wooden bread box on the counter, and asked why it was there when the rest of the kitchen was empty? "The bread box comes with the house for who ever purchases this house", he said matter-of-factly with a smile. "The former owner passed away some time ago, and she loved to bake bread. Her daughter, who is now the legal owner, asked me to leave the bread box here, because she said she felt her mother's presence in the house".
He had a look in his eyes, as if there was more to the bread box than he was telling me, as he moved to the hallway, with me trailing behind. After looking at the two bedrooms, bathroom and back yard, I told him I would get back to him. He shook my hand once more and I drove away, not really thinking anymore of the house or bread box. I spent the rest of the week looking at other houses I had seen for sale, either passing by a for sale sign, or from an ad in the paper.
I wasn't really being "picky", or holding out for a "lower price", as much as I wanted to find a house that made me feel "comfortable". So I guess it came as a surprise to me to find myself in Mr. jenkins office that tuesday morning, going over the closing documents and escrow papers. "Initial here and here and here, sign here and here", gosh, I felt like a movie star signing autographs! But finally all was done and he handed me the set of keys, and told me if I had any problems, to please call him or stop by his office.
When I arrived at my "new home", I backed the truck into the driveway, close to the gate, so I could bring in the boxes that contained years of memories. The furniture would be brought over in the next few trips. At least I had aspirin for my approaching back ache, and a sunny day. Nothing worse then half unloading a truck when it begins to rain. Trip after trip I made, until the truck was empty. I made sure that I locked the house up, and left. After stopping at McDonald's for a bite to eat, I returned with a load of furniture.
I sat the tall lamp on the porch as I took the key and unlocked the front door. Suddenly, my senses were filled with the scent of freshly baked bread! That couldn't be I thought as I walked into the kitchen. I checked the back door, and found it locked. I walked over to the bread box. The lid was down, and inside was a heavenly fragranced loaf of bread, so fresh that the bread was hot and soft to the touch. Yet there was no heat in the kitchen, and the oven door was cold.
Mr. Jenkins must have pulled a practical joke on me, telling me of a ghostly woman who liked to bake bread! He didn't have a right to come into my house without permission. I had a mind to go right down to his office and complain to the sales manager! That was when I heard a woman's soft voice ask... "I hope you like freshly baked bread"? I turned around, and to my disbelief, I saw a ghostly blonde haired woman, wearing a red shirt and a checkerboard apron smiling back at me. As she stired the bread dough in the bowl, I literally was speechless.
"My name is Michelle, please don't make me leave", she said with a voice of sadness and concern. As she spoke those words, I saw tears flow down her cheeks, as she faded into a mist and disappeared. It was difficult for me to gather my thoughts as I left the kitchen, and began unloading my furniture from the truck. Each trip I made into the house I hoped to see the blonde haired woman, but I didn't.
Before I left to bring another load back to the house, I walked back into the kitchen and softly said, "this will always be your home, please stay"! I got back into my truck and was ready to leave, when once again, I smelled the scent of homemade bread, and looked down at the seat. There, on a white napkin was a slice of her freshly baked bread, covered in strawberry jam. That was when I heard her gentle voice whisper..."Thank You"!
© 2002 Raymond Cook (All rights reserved)
Mr. Jenkins was a pot bellied gentleman who needed only a white beard to resemble "Santa". We shook hands, and I saw the folder in his hands, a sign that he was eager to answer any question I might ask. The front yard was plain and simple, with a large oak tree, a lawn in need of mowing, and overgrown weeds in the rose garden by the front porch.
When we entered the front door, it opened into the livingroom, with a convenient side closet. A fireplace was off set to one corner. A four light brass ceiling light would provide ample light. The walls were freshly painted white, though I would have preferred an off white color, but that could be remedied. I followed Mr. jenkins into the kitchen, which was rather nice. The counters and cabinets were located just within reach of someone who liked to cook.
That was when I noticed the wooden bread box on the counter, and asked why it was there when the rest of the kitchen was empty? "The bread box comes with the house for who ever purchases this house", he said matter-of-factly with a smile. "The former owner passed away some time ago, and she loved to bake bread. Her daughter, who is now the legal owner, asked me to leave the bread box here, because she said she felt her mother's presence in the house".
He had a look in his eyes, as if there was more to the bread box than he was telling me, as he moved to the hallway, with me trailing behind. After looking at the two bedrooms, bathroom and back yard, I told him I would get back to him. He shook my hand once more and I drove away, not really thinking anymore of the house or bread box. I spent the rest of the week looking at other houses I had seen for sale, either passing by a for sale sign, or from an ad in the paper.
I wasn't really being "picky", or holding out for a "lower price", as much as I wanted to find a house that made me feel "comfortable". So I guess it came as a surprise to me to find myself in Mr. jenkins office that tuesday morning, going over the closing documents and escrow papers. "Initial here and here and here, sign here and here", gosh, I felt like a movie star signing autographs! But finally all was done and he handed me the set of keys, and told me if I had any problems, to please call him or stop by his office.
When I arrived at my "new home", I backed the truck into the driveway, close to the gate, so I could bring in the boxes that contained years of memories. The furniture would be brought over in the next few trips. At least I had aspirin for my approaching back ache, and a sunny day. Nothing worse then half unloading a truck when it begins to rain. Trip after trip I made, until the truck was empty. I made sure that I locked the house up, and left. After stopping at McDonald's for a bite to eat, I returned with a load of furniture.
I sat the tall lamp on the porch as I took the key and unlocked the front door. Suddenly, my senses were filled with the scent of freshly baked bread! That couldn't be I thought as I walked into the kitchen. I checked the back door, and found it locked. I walked over to the bread box. The lid was down, and inside was a heavenly fragranced loaf of bread, so fresh that the bread was hot and soft to the touch. Yet there was no heat in the kitchen, and the oven door was cold.
Mr. Jenkins must have pulled a practical joke on me, telling me of a ghostly woman who liked to bake bread! He didn't have a right to come into my house without permission. I had a mind to go right down to his office and complain to the sales manager! That was when I heard a woman's soft voice ask... "I hope you like freshly baked bread"? I turned around, and to my disbelief, I saw a ghostly blonde haired woman, wearing a red shirt and a checkerboard apron smiling back at me. As she stired the bread dough in the bowl, I literally was speechless.
"My name is Michelle, please don't make me leave", she said with a voice of sadness and concern. As she spoke those words, I saw tears flow down her cheeks, as she faded into a mist and disappeared. It was difficult for me to gather my thoughts as I left the kitchen, and began unloading my furniture from the truck. Each trip I made into the house I hoped to see the blonde haired woman, but I didn't.
Before I left to bring another load back to the house, I walked back into the kitchen and softly said, "this will always be your home, please stay"! I got back into my truck and was ready to leave, when once again, I smelled the scent of homemade bread, and looked down at the seat. There, on a white napkin was a slice of her freshly baked bread, covered in strawberry jam. That was when I heard her gentle voice whisper..."Thank You"!
© 2002 Raymond Cook (All rights reserved)
