House of Dreams

In the fifth installment of the Anne series, our beloved protaganist moves into her very own home, her ‘House of Dreams’. Anne’s House of Dreams has lombardy trees and an old-fashioned garden, china dogs on the mantle, and drift wood in the fireplace. My house of dreams is a bit different. I have, in the course of the research for this project, looked up those china dogs, and they are green, so my house goes without a Gog and Magog.

Instead, my house of dreams has a window seat, kitted out for our cat’s express use, which looks out over the front garden, which is planted in the English style - that is to say, higgledy-piggledy, barely contained wildness. The facade is brick, ensconced in trees and box hedge with a creaky gate that squeaks as you come in. There is a light on over the front door to welcome you in, and a sonorous doorbell. The front door has a kickplate and a charming doorknocker in the shape of a robin.
Every seat in the living room is furnished with an obvious place to put a mug of tea and a book. There are books in every room. The kitchen is always stocked with goodies for sharing: the sorts of things that you put out when friends drop by. Sweating jugs of lemonade and iced tea for the oppressive heat of summer afternoons; spiced tea for crisp autumn mornings; cookies and hot cocoa for winter Sunday visits that curl up in the embrace of wool blankets; peppermint tea for misty springtime gatherings. Sunlight streams in the windows and handmade curtains wave in the breeze. The floors pop and creak when you walk down the hall or up the stairs. There is a dog snoozing in a basket beside my desk as I work, and the cat, of course, has taken up her post in the bay window, surveilling her domain. There is local art on the walls and the strains of music coming from my husband’s office. There are spare beds and extra slippers, sweet-smelling soap and fresh flowers from the garden.
Oh, the garden! Follow that curving stone path from the back door past the raised beds and the vegetable patch and the trellis and the esplanaded trees. Just as you wish for a place to sit, a charming bench comes in to view, partially hidden by forsythia and shaded by Japanese magnolia. There isn’t any grass, just flowering thyme and a carpet of clover. The dog loves it. You’re likely to meet a cheerful neighbour over the fence, who will compare notes on the coming rain and bulbs they planted in the spring.
However, despite all these differences, there are some similarities. Just ike Anne’s home, my house of dreams is also fictional.

Jennifer