What struck me upon viewing Kayla's photos of the abandon house's inner sanctum is what was left behind. Perhaps it's my point of view as a woman but these tattered, stained, torn curtains speak to me on some deep level.
Women are generally the forces behind the touches that make a house a Home. Flowers in a vase. Candles. Pottery grouped with interesting pieces found in antique stores. Stained glass dragonflies hanging on a window. Potted plants on the porch welcoming guests. Family photos on a wall. Tiny arrangements in odd places simply to entertain and be beautiful. Shadowboxes filled with memories. Countless daily putterings by women that create beauty and interest and personality within a space that transform drywall, glass, wood into welcoming, comfortable spaces.
Some woman long ago chose these curtains with love. They hung for years lending shade from summer sun and heat, insulating somewhat the winter chills and winds and enclosed her family in a safe environment. They lent beauty to the small walls, the subtle turquoise decoration matched the blue walls of her living room. The linen top was simple and aesthetically pleasing. In my mind's eye and imagination the mother hung them anew then stepped back, pleased with what she saw. She invited her mother over to see the new curtains and a celebration ensued between two women that would never be understood by husbands or children.
This house is small, tiny. My dream is that this family moved into a larger place, better surroundings, with larger windows to see the world and new curtains to celebrate. But today, dear lady, I celebrate your curtains as only a woman can do.