{"id":39,"date":"2017-04-01T12:49:51","date_gmt":"2017-04-01T12:49:51","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.jbowrites.com\/blog\/?p=39"},"modified":"2017-04-01T17:49:35","modified_gmt":"2017-04-01T17:49:35","slug":"of-bookshelves-and-camellias","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.jbowrites.com\/blog\/2017\/04\/01\/of-bookshelves-and-camellias\/","title":{"rendered":"Of Bookshelves and Camellias"},"content":{"rendered":"<pre><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\" wp-image-37 alignleft\" src=\"http:\/\/www.jbowrites.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/03\/IMG_5324-300x300.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"226\" height=\"226\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.jbowrites.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/03\/IMG_5324-300x300.jpg 300w, https:\/\/www.jbowrites.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/03\/IMG_5324-150x150.jpg 150w, https:\/\/www.jbowrites.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/03\/IMG_5324-768x768.jpg 768w, https:\/\/www.jbowrites.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/03\/IMG_5324-1024x1024.jpg 1024w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 226px) 100vw, 226px\" \/><\/pre>\n<p>As winter sputtered to a close and our camellias bloomed profusely, I attended the memorial service for a woman I didn\u2019t know well. But, I knew her in a unique way. I live in her house.<\/p>\n<p>In the early 1980\u2019s, Julia built the first house on a small cul-de-sac near the women\u2019s college where she taught chemistry and was dean. She later retired and became a minister.<\/p>\n<p>When she decided it was time for a retirement home, the \u201cFor Sale\u201d sign went up. We were looking, and her home checked a lot of our boxes: It was across from that same college where I now worked; had a small, well-established backyard; and featured a library with wall-to-wall bookshelves. Those bookshelves sold us. Twenty years and three moves ago, we had and estimated 5,000 pounds of books. And we rarely discard.<\/p>\n<p>Although Julia and I had met, she had no reason to remember me. Hoping to influence her, I instructed our realtor to write on the offer, \u201cThe wife works at the college.\u201d It helped.<\/p>\n<p>Julia\u2019s reputation assured that the house was built beautifully and to precision. Being the first on the street, she also had cultivated a neighborhood of lovely people who became our friends. Even the prolific camellias in our backyard tie us to a mutual friend who gave her the seeds.<\/p>\n<p>I\u2019ve been intrigued for years about how older women chose to live their lives, thinking I might gain insight for my future. Julia was a strong, intelligent, fun-loving woman marked by her stentorian voice. When I asked her reason for selling and moving into retirement home, she proclaimed, \u201cI wanted to make that decision while I could still make it for myself.\u201d Noted.<\/p>\n<p>She corrected me once upon hearing me refer to the house as \u201cJulia\u2019s house.\u201d It was our house now. Maybe. Both my husband and I now have lived in this house longer than any other house. It occurred to me during her memorial service that I had grown up in a minister\u2019s home, and now I will grow old\u2014at least until I make The Decision\u2014in a minister\u2019s home.<\/p>\n<p>I didn\u2019t know her well. But, every day I walk on Julia\u2019s floors, through her rooms and into her garden. The brass doorknocker bearing her initial remains in place.<\/p>\n<p>But, our bookshelves brim with books; our camellias flourish with blossoms.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>As winter sputtered to a close and our camellias bloomed profusely, I attended the memorial service for a woman I didn\u2019t know well. But, I knew her in a unique way. I live in her house. In the early 1980\u2019s, Julia built the first house on a small cul-de-sac near the women\u2019s college where she&#8230; <a href=\"https:\/\/www.jbowrites.com\/blog\/2017\/04\/01\/of-bookshelves-and-camellias\/\">Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-39","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.jbowrites.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/39","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.jbowrites.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.jbowrites.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.jbowrites.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.jbowrites.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=39"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/www.jbowrites.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/39\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":42,"href":"https:\/\/www.jbowrites.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/39\/revisions\/42"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.jbowrites.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=39"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.jbowrites.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=39"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.jbowrites.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=39"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}