Something About Nothing by Julie Seedorf

I have always had an active imagination. Deep in the recesses of my brain there is something that triggers an intrigue in the thought of hidden doors, hidden rooms and hidden tunnels in houses. Along with that is a fascination with unique houses. I love the shows on HGTV called “Extreme Homes” and “You Live In What?” I actually, if given the chance, would love to live in one of these unique and unconventional houses.

As a child I dreamed of a hidden room at the end of the hallway in my grandmother’s house. No one else knew of the room but me. The wall would open up to a magical toy room behind the magical secret door. This was a recurring dream throughout my childhood. Occasionally I still have that dream as an adult. Perhaps that was my precursor to my writing career and I didn’t know it.

We lived in my grandmother’s house for many years. People did that in those days, they helped take care of the grandparents. What I didn’t know was that 50 years later the house did have some secrets.

Recently one of my reviewers, Kate Eileen Shannon, documented a room in a house her real estate agent husband had for sale. The house had a door in the basement no one had opened in all the years of various owners. Perhaps they were afraid at what they would find. Kate Eileen Shannon was not afraid to open that door and she found a treasure. The house had a hidden room and tunnel that had been used by a famous bootlegger from the prohibition days.  People might think it was strange that no one ever opened that door, but I understand because I did the same thing.

There was a door in the basement of my grandmother’s house. I never opened that door, even after my mom moved to a nursing home. I didn’t open it until I was forced to find out what was in there so we could sell her house. In all the years I lived there as a child, I never saw that door opened. I imagine my mom opened it but she never told me. I was scared to open that door as an adult. I don’t know what I thought I would find. The mystery writer mind said skulls and bones. Finally I made my husband open it. We found old wood from many, many, many, years back and the surprising thing was  — wait for it — there were no creepy creatures. The wood was dry and good. That was a very secure room.

Imagine my surprise as we cleaned out the house of all its belongings, getting it ready for sale, and my teenage daughter inquired as to when we were going to open the secret door under the porch. I didn’t believe her. She insisted, and I said to her, “Fine, show us where this hidden door  is.” I didn’t believe her because she insisted that when she was five years old she saw Grandma stow some paper underneath the porch from a hidden outside door. She led us to a spot and pointed out where the door was supposed to be. We couldn’t see it. She insisted. Finally we got down on our hands and knees and did some investigating, sure enough, there was a hidden door. We found it, opened it, and it was a treasure trove of old newspapers and magazines from as far back as World War II. Again, like the wood, they were all in top notch condition. That space was air tight and perfect for preserving things.

I am a mystery writer. I find my penchant for hidden rooms carry on in the books I write. I find my dream of having a home with a hidden room carry on to my Pinterest finds, with many pins on how to build doors that hide rooms and other mysterious things. I dream of ways to drive my husband crazy asking when we are doing a project, if we can’t do it a little bit different. It is the basis for many different opinion conversations. He doesn’t always see my vision and I don’t always see his conventional vision and wisdom.

I got a little of the unique fix the other day in the Albert Lea community.  I was headed to a rummage sale with my daughter, when I saw an open house sign posted by Craig Hoium of Ron Holtan Realty. I looked at the outside of the house and I knew I had to take a tour of the home. It reminded me a little of a manor house in the country, and the beauty of the unique outside had me intrigued. It wasn’t one of the conventional houses that are now built in our communities. This house had been built in 1950 by architect Leroy Gaardner. This man shared my vision for unique houses. The difference is that he could actually make his vision into reality.

I took a chance and walked into the unique foyer. I met Mr. Hoium and threw myself on his mercy to let me view the home. I am not looking for a home, but there is always the dream. I wandered through the unique hallways that wound around at times in a mysterious, teasing way, surprising me as to what was around the corner. I fell in love with the architecture, the windows, the bedrooms, and every part of the home. It was a writers dream. I visited the garden and the fountain. I gushed at the lake view. I never wanted to leave.   It was warm, cozy and this writer’s dream. Thank you Mr. Hoium and whoever the owners are, for gifting me a few moments of dreaming.

I would love a home that was not the conventional neighborhood covenant home. I would love a home with a few secret rooms hidden by secret doors. I am lucky that I still dream of the toy room at the end of the hallway in my Grandmother’s house. I am lucky my husband puts up with my dreaming and my ever changing ideas. That is the thing about dreams, if they don’t come true and many don’t, you can move on to the next dream, enjoying the feelings of dreaming. Dreams take you out of reality and into a fantasy that fuels your inspiration for a few moments. Those dreams can live with you forever for a lifetime, reminding you of the possibilities that became real and those that are yet to come, if only in your dreams.

 

Wells resident Julie Seedorf’s column appears every Monday. Send email to her at thecolumn@bevcomm.net. Her Facebook page is www.facebook.com/sprinklednotes.