December 18, 2016 – The Mansard Roof Mansion adventure

          When I moved to the county I met a new friend and neighbor the day the moving van unloaded my furniture. The same gal I mentioned in September 8, 2016 blog.

          After she saved me with ice cubes and toilet tissue she hung around and we chatted while I was marking off the carton inventory on my carbon copy set.

          Out of the moving truck came golf clubs and she asked, “Do you play?” 

          “Yes”, I said expecting her to say she did as well. But, I wasn’t expecting what she said next.

          “Can you teach me?” She asked excited.

          “Sure,” I answered.

          It didn’t take long, having moved many times in the past for me to get settled in.  My job was to unpack, hang curtains, and get on with life.

          Once the moving boxes had been unpacked, broken down flat and taken off, my new friend came over and we drank coffee and became more acquainted.  She didn’t waste any time getting around to bringing up “golf” and my teaching her to how to play.

          We shagged some balls.   I hated it, she was a NATURAL.  It was as if she had golfed before or had lessons.  But, she swore she hadn’t.

I borrowed some of my husband’s older golf clubs for her to use and we hit the links.  We played several rounds in Forest City and I did my best to show her the game.  I hadn’t realized there was that much to explain, until we got out there.  She was a fast learner.

The first time she made a PAR; she jumped up and down and screamed so excited that everyone in front of us and behind us must have thought she had gotten an eagle.  It was fun to watch such enthusiasm.

          But she absolutely loved it.  She made it fun and we laughed more at my whiffs as she had less whiffs.   For the first several weeks I could still beat her with my putting alone.

          Then, honestly, she beat me one game, then another, then three in a row.  Darn, I taught her too well; she was beating me and made me work harder.

          We finally got into a golfing groove and drove down to Shelby to a small par-3 golf course once a week for our golf outing.

          The first time she got a birdie – she was simply over the top. You would have thought she won The Masters and a green jacket was awaiting her at the club house.  I let her enjoy the moment – you can’t take away someone’s “first birdie”.  It makes me smile just to think of those fun times.

          As the routine going down to Shelby became common, I would admire a Mansard roofed Mansion at the corner of the main street.  I always gushed when I saw that place.   When she was driving I asked her to slow down so that I could really look it over.  When I drove down, I slowed down to a crawl and took it all in.

          I imagined how it looked inside.  It was one of those day dreams that kept me fine company when I was planting my new house gardens and weeding those gardens.

          One day on our way back from golf and we were approaching the house, I said, “Slow down”.

          She stopped right in front of the mansion. Turned the ignition off and opened her door of the car.

          “Come on,” she called. 

          “What?”

          “Come on, we are going to knock on the door and ask to see inside.” She was fearless and absolute in her confidence.

          I hesitated, but got out of the car.

          My friend was adamant.  I was trying to talk her out of it.

          “You can’t just walk up to a total stranger’s house and knock on the door . . .” I begged.

          “Sure I can, come on.  You want to see this house. We are going to see this house.”  She didn’t grab me by the arm, and haul me to the front door – almost, but, I went along with her because of her over-the-top optimism at her expected results.

          “All they can do is say NO.  But, if you never ASK . . . .” her voice trailed off.  We were at the front door.  She knocked, turned to me and said, “You never know.”

          The door was answered by a gracious middle aged woman.

          My friend launched into her campaign something like: “HI, my friend here has been admiring this house every time we have gone by and would it be possible to see the inside.   Would you . . .”

          We were both a bit surprised, [I was actually stunned] when the woman smiled, stepped back, and opened the door wide and said, “Do come in.”

          A well dressed, refined woman, who was the epitome of a fine Southern Belle as seen in black and white movies, except she was trim and modern and in full living color.

          “Yes, come in.” She waved us in with a gracious smile.

          The foyer – actually the whole house was decorated exactly as it should be – elegant, formal, in keeping with the Mansard roof style.

          The first thing I noticed was the long staircase from above which clung to the right wall, yet the staircase was wider at the bottom with a swirled out bannister.  I could easily imagine a bride coming down that staircase and as the image came into my head, the owner said, she often had brides come for pictures.

          I distinctly remember the library because it had antelope colored silk moiré wallpaper with matching moiré drapes, high ceilings, and bookcases circled the room filled with beautiful leather books.  I could have plopped down in the leather chair and simply lived in that room.

          The woman showed us around and was witty, gracious and charming – as if we weren’t the first people to knock on her door and ask to look inside her home.  She didn’t think we were rude, in fact we got the impression it gave her great pleasure to show us her beautiful Mansard roofed Mansion.

          When I am in that section of town, on rare occasion now, I think of that surprise adventure.  My dear friend made that adventure happen with her unabashed boldness.   She is three things: bold, unafraid, and a dear friend.