CHAPTER 1
LITTLE HOUSE ON THE POND
IT ALL STARTED OUT innocent enough,-3 young girls and one second marriage. Three babies in four years is tough on any parents. Mix in a child from each prior marriage gone wrong, two beautiful, young parents with baggage of lives lived wild till now, family dysfunction and a struggling economy that decimated the middle class and you've got a pretty easy recipe for disaster. Throw in some laughter, lots of love and the occasional unexpected surprise and you've got the life most of us lived back when things were real; when emotions were expressed through smiles or tears, not emoji symbols and it was ok if life wasn't always perfect. That was the only life we knew and a fairly common setting back then. It was built on good intentions, strong love, and a new solid faith which added a dusting of hope to less than perfect circumstances. We had our share of hard times, but through it all we had each other, all together, under one roof in our new little home by the pond. We were close. We laughed together, cried together, prayed together, and dreamed together. A bond of sisterhood was built that would be the tracks of the up and downs of life's rollercoaster ride. Yes, it all started out innocent enough in the crazy life of 3 little girls. Little girls who grew up when there was still a shred of innocence left for the children to stake claim to; when My Little Pony was on every birthday wish list, and Brownie patches sparked inspiration.
I remember the first time I saw the tiny house thinking it was a little piece of heaven, put here just for us. After years in small apartments in less than desirable neighborhoods, the small cottage on a pond was like a vacation that never ended. We had a large yard and a tire swing and a driveway to ride our bikes and roller skate. The home itself was small and crowded, but we all managed to fit in the three small bedrooms. There was only one bathroom and it was terribly ugly. The blue tiles were old as the house and the toilet matched the sky blue walls as well. The kitchen was equally unimpressive. The counters were mustard yellow and the room was dark and dreary, but it had a dishwasher and that was enough to excite Mom. We also had our own washer and dryer which we never had before. The best part of the house though was by far the pond. There were 2 ponds actually, a frogging and fishing pond was the edge of our back yard and the big beautiful swimming pond was just under 100 yards from the front door and through a short pathway. The dining room, which was attached to the kitchen, received the first fixer upper project. As soon as we moved in, Dad put in a large picture window so we could see the daily happenings of the pond. That was our morning excitement; who was fishing or who had their boat out, who was swimming and who was skating or playing ice hockey. 'Nature's entertainment' Mom called it. In the back of the house was a smaller pond. The mucky, murky waters were full of frogs and fish. The sound of the crickets in the fall was the backdrop for many nights spent together doing our hair and our homework inside the walls of the little house. Our older brother Daniel, Danny as we called him, would visit frequently and lived there for a short time. Jamie, Mom's daughter from her first marriage, lived with us full time and we looked up to her as the coolest person in the world. When the house was purchased Beth hadn't been born yet. When she came home shortly after we moved in, the seams of the little house were bursting.
Mom and Dad would spend the next 20 years trying to make the house big enough for the ever growing demands of the family. Eventually the process became stressful and a source of fighting. The house sucked any extra energy out of my parents especially Mom, who worked tirelessly to beautify the house. It became an expensive frustration as the family grew and we stumbled over each other daily. Time that could've been spent playing and teaching us kids was spent on projects regarding the home and working to pay for the projects, all with the intentions of providing a better life. My sisters and I fought constantly, especially in the colder months when our high energy spirits were confined to staying indoors instead of running wild outside. There was nowhere to go for quiet time or time outs without one or the other of us there to poke fun. It was hard to manage, even for the greatest of parents. Mom and Dad did their best, but often times, tempers were lost. Despite the frustrations that came with the lack of space and privacy, the size of the little house was actually the best part about it. It forced us to be close. It took away the option of privacy. Sometimes we don't understand our circumstances while we are lost in the midst of them, but looking back it makes sense. If we had more wide open space in that little house, the tornado that ripped through there years later would have only picked up speed and caused more destruction. Instead, we all stood in the way, crowded together like a mountain range in the middle of a huge plain, trying to stop a deadly storm, and we didn't even know it.
'And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose' Romans 8:28 (NIV)
For many years, we kids believed the house itself was evil. Doors would open on their own, and floor boards would creak where no one was walking. As kids we spent hours searching for a "body" in the large pile of dirt that remained in our basement where the foundation was dug. Every creak of a floor board or rustling of leaves outside was proof to us that there were spirits coming to claim stake to the house that they still held as their own. We were scared and dramatic little creatures. We were terrified of that house in the dark hours. We were completely convinced it was haunted. Never-the-less, it was OUR haunted house and it boasted the most beautiful sunsets you'd ever see every night as the sun went to sleep over the pond. It was a symbol that another day was done and it was time to make new dreams for tomorrow.
I was the older of the 'second batch', the first child of my parent's marriage together. I was easy by most accounts except for one crying fit which caused my parents to cut their bowling date early when I was about a year old. Molly came next. Moms pregnancy was tough and she was sick with stomach aches most of the time. I adored my new sister. She came home from the hospital one Christmas Eve. Mom said she was our Christmas angel. My Grammy put her under the tree in a wicker basket.
Grammy came over to me and said "Jenny, want to see your new sister?"
She picked me up and I wrapped my arms around her neck, nestling my head against her shoulder and breathing in her freshly set, sweet smelling silver hair. She placed me down by the glistening tree and I peered cautiously over the edge of the basket.
"She's in a basket just like baby Jesus," Grammy said.
That's when I saw my sister Molly for the first time. She had a full head of dark hair and chubby perfect cheeks. I wanted her for my own;one of my earliest memories. In the middle of everyone strumming on their guitars and singing Christmas music and eating Chinese food and laughing, our eyes somehow met each other's and our souls connected. It was as if for a moment in time we were all alone. Our bond was formed right there. From...
