chock full of memories

I think there are two kinds of short-term rental home out there. The first are investment properties bought specifically with vacationers in mind. They are tastefully decorated, set up to run well with property managers and such, the only downside being that the kitchens can sometimes suffer from bad knives and thin pots. The other kind is the family home, passed down for a few generations, and now rented out occasionally. That is the kind of house we're in currently.

Family homes speak volumes about potential memories. The paintings on the wall, the books and games on the shelf, the home-made chandelier all speak of previous occupants. There are fifty bistro glasses in the china cabinet- how many parties were thrown here? There are photos of Audrey Hepburn in the bathroom- who was her fan? The framed charcoal drawings on the wall of the dining room- were any of these drawn by an occupant of the house?

I find the experience of living in someone else's home intense. Every day I'm wondering whether someone went to China to buy that figurine or if it was a gift? Was someone religious or did they just like simple wood-carved crucifixes? Walking past any painting or tsotchke makes me imagine the family that lived with them or chose them. Especially things like the ceramic bird in the bathroom that was clearly carefully glued back together after getting smashed.

Meanwhile John sees it as a house full of props. He'll suddenly grab a candelabra and limp into the room imitating Quasimodo, or grab an Egyptian statue that kind of looks like a telephone and pretend to take a call. Clearly the memories of this house pass more lightly over him!