Willie's House

I was pondering a blog on Thanksgiving memories and even started writing it. I was reflecting on one particular Thanksgiving at my great aunt Willie's house and found myself going into great detail about the place. It was not long before I realized something. Although I didn't realize it then, this was a very special place of my youth that deserves a blog all of its own.

Willie had lived at this house since before I was born; at least since 1970. By today's standards, the house had a strange layout. There was a big front porch with old metal gliders and other metal outdoor chairs. Upon entering her home through a storm door that had distinctive hiss and rattle when it opened and closed, there was a formal living room that nobody ever sat in. It had black couches that looked like they came from a doctor's waiting room and the room itself was very dark.

After passing through the living room, there was a pass through den that was always crowded with relatives and had what seemed like hundreds of pictures on the walls. There were more pictures to be seen on the wall than the wall itself. Her husband George would be sitting stoically in his chair saying very little while everybody else chatted away over the sound of the TV. I learned later in life that George was the quiet man he was due to his wife's nagging. One of my favorite memories was one time while everybody was chatting, I asked Willie a question that she either ignored or genuinely didn't hear me. I said aloud to myself, "I guess she didn't hear me" to which George replied, "Willie hears what she wants to hear". Well she heard that loud and clear because she immediately shot back, "No I don't George!" It might be funnier if you knew them. They were kind of like a Fred and Ethel couple.

Beyond this hive of activity was Willie's kitchen. I remember it was at her house that I first ever saw a gas range. Those blue flames shooting out of the burner on the stove just mesmerized me as a child. Off to the side of the kitchen was a room with a dining table and loads of junk. Apparently, Willie earned good money and liked to spend it. I remember things just piled up all over this room. Under a side table in the room, my brother once showed me where somebody, probably him, had drawn some neat designs in some really thick dust that had accumulated. I guess the vacuum never made it in there. I remember adding a few designs of my own. A few months later when we visited again, I checked and they were still there.

Beyond the junk room and the kitchen was Willie's formal dining room. Yes, in the back of the house. It was quite a strange layout in retrospect. The backdoor to the house was out of this room. If you stepped outside, no less than 10 cats would scatter away, fleeing under the house. I swear they were everywhere, but would never let any of us kids near them, no matter how many times we said, "Here kitty, kitty, kitty". The backyard had little to offer in the way of fun as there was only an old shed back there that was kept locked.

Speaking of fun, other than dust and watching the blue flames of a gas range, there wasn't much to offer there. Stephen, Laura and I always bemoaned having to go visit her. However, my mom adored her and I don't blame her one bit. Willie was a generous and unique lady. We never left her house without bags of clothes, candy or stacks of magazines. I remember her one time giving my cousin Cole, who was no more than seven or eight at the time a copy of Uncle Tom's Cabin. Willie thought it was Tom Sawyer.

There were two bedrooms that I recall at Willie's house. One was off the dining room and I never remember going in there and off the den, there was a hallway with a bathroom and another bedroom. At one time the hallway connected to the junk room, but the passage between the junk room and the hall was later made into a closet. I guess Willie accumulated so much junk that she had to build a closet to stow it in.

The bathroom had one unique feature. To flush the toilet you had to pull this damp, slimy string. Gross I know and the entire family, save Willie and George I suppose, shared my sentiments. I remember Willie saying the flushing handle broke the day my mom's father died. That was in 1970, so that string had been dangling there a good ten years by the time I started taking note of it On the back of the bathroom door was rack bearing ten or fifteen pairs of shoes. Willie worked as a nurse and my brother told me when I was four or five that those shoes were people's feet Willie had cut off at the hospital. Another time he and I were playing out in the yard and found a spigot that just came up out of the ground instead of off the house. We were amused that when we turned it on, it spat out brown water from lack of long term use. Yes, entertainment was scarce on Scotland Avenue. All the neighbors were older than Willie and George so there were no other kids around to play with. As adults, my brother and I both had separate revelations about Willie's house. The place always had a peculiar smell about it. One day, I had bought a box of mothballs to battle a mouse problem in the attic and when I opened the box, I caught of whiff of yesteryear as the smell of Willie's house emanated from the box. I was telling my brother this story and he said he had experienced the exact same thing when battling a rodent problem.

By the time I was in Middle School, the neighborhood had fell into decline and Willie and George left Scotland Avenue behind. Ironically, for a neighborhood that was in decline, the people who moved in fixed the place up and it looks nicer now, at least on the outside, than when Willie and George called the place home. I visit Macon less and less these days, but when I do, I still like to drive past the old house, just to remember, if only for a few minutes.