Wishing on a Star

By Erin Gehan

The grey minivan taking my daughter to nursery school had just begun to crackle back out of our gravel drive when it paused. I like that star, the day's carpool driver, an architect, called out to me. Never noticed it before.

Funny. Five years earlier it had been that star, set into a weathered window frame on the side of the house, that charmed us into buying the old place. When my husband, Don, and I reviewed its selling points I saw that star hanging heroically, with four of its five original points. Having grown up in a 1960s development where most friends lived in houses identical to mine, I longed for a home with history and character.

Yet before my carpool buddy mentioned it, I hadn't thought about the star since the month we moved in. That June, I always included it in the house tour when family and friends arrived with housewarming gifts. Soon though, we were immersed in practicalities, showing off new electrical wiring and insulation instead. Then near summer's end our house began to reveal other special things about its character.

One August Saturday when our first child was imminent, my brother Mark and his family came to hand down the family crib. While Mark and Don were assembling the crib in the nursery-to-be, my niece and nephew discovered our slide/noisemaker/circus platformÑthat is, the metal bulkhead doors that provide outside access to the basement.

Dare I say I was appalled? Their feet made a terrible racket, the slate surrounds were dangerous, and most embarrassing, the doors were so ugly! Now my own children have taught me that those doors are far more valuable than the deluxe Rainbow System Playset that we so carefully selected and put together. Our real slide often stands deserted on the lawn while my daughters and their friends line up for a turn on the basement doors.

In December we placed our Christmas tree ceremoniously in the curve of a bow window that seemed built just for that purpose, trimming it with a baby's first Christmas ornament inscribed with Meghan's name. We unpacked our stockings by the fire. When Don went to select a spot to hang them he called me over: A dozen nail holes were there already. How many other families had stood before that fireplace to hang Christmas stockings?

That spring I researched our house at the library. I did dig up a handful of old photographs that helped explain how the structure had evolved, but the most valuable history lesson came from two elderly women in the library's local history room who reminisced about taking piano lessons in our parlor.

We don't have a piano. We do have a family room and a living room, and we thought the parlor was a waste; if only we could devise a workable new floor plan! Once Meghan could walk she showed us the room's destinyÑher experimental theater. The parlor has been the setting for ballets, Irish step dancing, and interpretive dramas. One day during intermission I told Meghan and her audience (Don) that our little thespian would soon have a costar.

Carolyn, who now joins her sister on the stage that was our useless parlor, was the one who discovered the intrinsic value of the house's cramped staircase. You know the typeÑthe ones with turns so tight that moving day forces you to find first-floor uses for furniture once intended for upstairs.

Living closer to the floor, Carolyn claimed the second step as her cozy boot-on-and-off bench. (It has a heat vent, and how many boot benches can claim that?) The narrow ledge above the staircase wainscot is an ideal size for her Fisher-Price Little People to ascend and descend the stairs beside her. The sales brochure for our house described it as a charming family home replete with period detail. It failed to mention the built-in slide, timeworn mantel, recital room, boot bench-cum-doll stair, and a host of other features.

Next week painters will descend on our house with power washers, sanders, and scrapers. I'll ask them to be careful around that star. I'm most grateful to it.

Erin Gehan lives in Bernardsville, New Jersey.


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