MEMOIR / WHERE WE LIVE
The House That Lived in Me
I hated having to let it go
In the summer of 1976, I was 23 and pregnant, due at the end of August. My husband, Tom, had been transferred from Portland to Salem, Oregon, to manage a record store.
We decided we’d use Tom’s VA or Veterans’ Administration loan to purchase our first home so my friend, LouAnne, and I drove the hour to Salem to meet with Lannie, a realtor, who had a bunch of homes picked out for us to see that day.
I grew up in an older home and wanted an older home but all Lannie had chosen were new tract houses. We went from one to another and as the day wore on, they were all a jumble. I wasn’t interested in any of them.
“Lannie,” I said, exasperated, “I told you up front, I want an older home.”
“But the schools,” she said, trailing off when she saw that I meant it.
“Okay,” she said as she rifled through sheets of homes and their specs in the folder she’d brought with her. She pulled one out, “How about this?”
“Let’s look at it,” I said. So she pointed her car toward N Salem and LouAnne and I followed her.
We pulled up to a nice house, white, clean, but not all that big. Good covered porch, check. But no foyer — you walked right into the living room, adjacent to the dining room. The kitchen that wasn’t all that big. There were three bedrooms up.
In the basement, there was a huge beer can collection around the entire perimeter of the room.
Nice sized back yard, detached garage on the alley.
We were heading in the right direction, but this house wasn’t it.
Outside, I noticed that the house next door had a for sale sign out front. It was a much larger home, more stately and I blurted out, “Now that’s the house I’d really like to have.”
Lannie said “No, that’s going to be way out of your budget.” And that ended our looking for that day.
LouAnne and I headed back to Portland. Salem was new to me and everything about it, locations, neighborhoods and everything we’d looked at that day, was a blur.
The following week, I’d made an appointment with a different agent. I was clear up front — I want an older home.
We’d need as big as we could get for the price we could afford — I was guardian for my three youngest sisters who lived with us and we had a two-year-old and one on the way.
If we were lucky, found our house and closed before I gave birth, I planned to have my baby at home — in our new house.
That next trip to Salem, our first stop was at a big white place, green trim, nice front and back yards. Garage off the alley. A quiet, middle class neighborhood.
My spirits lifted when I saw it — nice sized covered porch — and lifted even more when we went inside: a foyer. To the left, a solid wood door to a larger room, and off of that, another room, which would make a great nursery.
To the right, glass paned door to the living room with fireplace, and a good sized dining room.
Back In the foyer, a staircase to the left and upstairs, three more good sized bedrooms along with a common area.
There was a full basement with a sauna. Straight back from the entry, the kitchen: decent sized, with a large window that looked over the generous back yard.
I fell in love with the house and it was within our means. Barely, but the math worked.
My husband came to see it, he loved it too, so we made an offer, which was accepted. Inspections, paperwork and closing took up nearly the entire month of August. We took possession on the 29th and immediately moved in.
After emptying boxes and setting up my kitchen, after working together to set up the beds and bedrooms for everyone, two days after we moved in, I started labor. Close to midnight on August 31, I gave birth in that front downstairs bedroom.
Tom, was there, along with midwife, Tina, Tina’s assistant, my sisters, Valerie and Eva, and my two-year-old, Hilarey, who exclaimed, “That’s not a baby!”
She must have expected a clothed infant.
Though I’d gotten a lot done, there were still boxes on the periphery of the room waiting to be unpacked. I’d take my time.
We met the neighbors, John and Jane, who were also new to the neighborhood, having moved in next door just ahead of us moving into our new place. There were the Millers across the street, Mrs. Wolfer up the street, Pops and Mary, Harold and June, Alicia and Dan. It was a nice mix of older and younger couples, and children.
My sisters enrolled in Englewood grade school, within walking distance of our home. We enjoyed the neighborhood, the footbridges that crossed Mill Creek — we even saw salmon on their way to spawn. Olinger swimming pool was just a few short blocks away. Even the local Safeway was within walking distance.
Summer gave way to fall and around November, Tom and I visited John and Jane. A feeling of familiarity came over me. I had been in this house before.
“Was there a collection of beer cans in the basement when you looked at this place?” I blurted.
John said yes, there was.
Lannie had shown me this house, the last place I looked at on my first trip to Salem back in July.
And when we’d finished the tour of what was now John and Jane’s house, I’d looked at that big house next door, our house, and said, “Now that’s the house I’d really like to have.”
Until that moment months later, I hadn’t made the connection.
Though we could never afford to furnish or upgrade the house as I would have liked, other than a cosmetic redo of the kitchen, and exterior paint we’d done ourselves, people would still walk in and say, “Wow, this is really a nice house.”
It was the feel of it, the ambience that made one sense the welcome. Even my teenaged sisters’ friends mentioned it.
Since my parents had both passed by 1975, this became the extended family home. We were nine siblings, spouses, and offspring. We hosted most family gatherings: Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, and summer parties for the entire family.
When I was growing up, my grandparents home was the setting for huge family events — it was a huge family. Aunts, uncles, cousins — we’d all converge on Grandpa and Grandma’s for the holidays. I wanted that experience for my children, my nieces and nephews. I wanted them to know each other, to bond with each other as I had with my cousins.
When it was time to leave, I didn’t want to go. We had been there for seven years, my youngest sisters had finished high school and gone on with their lives. Tom and I had divorced.
I’d taken on the debt of the marriage, which was considerable and I knew that to repay it, I’d have to sell the house. But interest rates were through the roof, so to speak, and real estate was not moving.
So I had the great good fortune to be able to stay for another three years. I waited tables and worked on my bachelors degree. Coincidental with college graduation, June of 1986, interest rates came down and after three years of nada, the real estate market went crazy.
When the new buyers came through, I recognized her right away. She was me, also 23 when she and her husband made the offer. And I could see that she loved the house as I loved it.
When it was time to go, I decided that I would walk and not look back. As I packed, the tears came. For ten years, this had been the family home. My baby was born here. It had been a refuge where I felt safe, it had been the venue for family gatherings, holiday dinners, friendship with neighbors.
I had no choice but to sell to satisfy all of the debt. My heart hurt over it, but I would take that pain up front. I would feel the feelings fully, cry unabashedly and hence, I wouldn’t allow myself to regret my decision. It had to be.
Still, for years after we moved, my dreams were set in that house: I’d dream of parties there, the kids growing up there, walking through the neighborhood, the neighbors who had become friends, driving up and parking in front of that house.
For a long time after, I realized that it was less the house that I had lived in and more the house that lived in me.
But I was able to let it go fully and to be grateful for having had it. This home, this chapter, was behind me now and I chose to trust in a future that would bring equally wonderful homes and experiences.
Thanks for reading.
I don’t have access to my photos of that house right now. But I’d feel cheated if I were reading and didn’t get a visual. Here are links:
https://www.redfin.com/OR/Salem/640-16th-St-NE-97301/home/26393689
https://www.trulia.com/home/640-16th-st-ne-salem-or-97301-53036572 (interiors)
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