The Cross House
While working, I heard a yell. I turned, looked down, and saw Eric in the yard.
I waved, and invited him to join me. Eric climbed up the scaffolding tower, sat down, and we began a conversation as if we were sitting in the parlor having high tea, rather than sitting, visually precarious, several stories up in the air.
Eric lives a block away, in a home designed by the same architect as the Cross house, Charles Squires. Eric is a husband, father, fireman, and old house lover. His spouse, Lesley, is a wife, mother, nurse, and old house lover. And you will not be surprised that I just adore Eric and Lesley.
So, Eric and I sat up high above the ground and caught up on our respective restoration stories. He told me about X and I told him about Y, all the while I painted away at the elaborate tin detailing surrounding the triple-arched windows.
After a while, Eric departed to work on another house he and Lesley are restoring. I finished my painting for the day, and smiled thinking how much I enjoyed our brief visit.
Then, as I gathered my stuff, turned off the fan, and crawled back through a window, I also thought: A terrible tragedy happened in Florida this morning, but this afternoon, for a brief twenty minutes, I was blessed with a reminder about how wonderful and beautiful human interactions can be.