I’ve been watching a lot of Ghost Adventures over the past few days. While I’m not necessarily a believer in ghosts, I’m obsessed with all things yesteryear. Most of the appeal of those shows (for me anyway) comes from exploring old buildings. I’m fascinated by the toll time takes on them. That’s not to say I don’t feel an electric charge sometimes when coming into contact with things from the past. The echoes of energy are real to me… I just don’t buy the idea of people appearing like holograms. It’s the clothes. I have a harder time accepting that clothes materialize than people. Hahah.
Anyway, enough rambling about my thoughts on the paranormal.
I am, of course, a lover of vintage clothing and vintage jewelry, but my first real vintage love was buildings. There’s no greater rush than feeling the energy of the past from an old building. Not in a bombastic ghosty way, but in an appreciative, respectful way of connecting. Does that make sense? Probably not.
One of my favorite old buildings is my very own house. It’s 114 years old. It’s quirky and looks like nothing I’ve ever seen before. When we came to look at it for the first time, I put my hand on the wall in the dining room and felt charges all the way up my arm. I knew that we finally found our place… and that our place had found us.
This is my house… in 1896 (the one on the right).
That’s my place on the right.
Honestly, that second picture gives me chills. Both pics are courtesy of the Halcyon Park Historic District website. It’s a great site to poke around. There are lots of intriguing old photographs of the neighborhood from the late 1800s/ early 1900s including a scan of the promotional brochure from when the “suburban park” was built. (Make sure you click through that one!)