Fixer-Upper

I'd neglected my house. Had I neglected myself as well?

- ROBERTA MESSNER

"Daddy, is that what they call a haunted house?"

I could hear the little boy's voice clearly from where I sat on my front porch, just feet away. He and his father were walking past my house. They couldn't see me because...well, the little boy was right.

My house looked haunted. It's a 120-year-old log cabin. I'd let it go in recent years, overwhelmed by health and financial problems. The roof leaked. Walls were damaged. Paint peeled. The heater needed replacement. So did the plumbing.

The yard around the cabin was a mess too. The weeds, briars and shaggy trees were so out of control, you could barely see the porch. I sat in my porch swing, shrouded by overgrowth, listening to that little boy innocently point out the most depressing part of my life.

This log cabin used to be my pride and joy. I'd put so much work into it after buying it in 1997. Now I couldn't afford to keep it up. Watching it deteriorate was like watching myself transform from the financially independent professional I'd once been into a downcast old woman worried about money and failing at retirement. Where did things go wrong?

I waited for the boy and his father to walk on. They seemed to be lingering. The father stared at my house.

"It does look haunted," he said, then paused. "You want to know something about that house? I actually proposed to your mother in the backyard, right over there. In those days, a nice lady lived here and she used to let people visit her garden. It was the most beautiful garden, with flowers and benches. I knocked on the door and asked if I could propose to your mom there. The lady not only said yes but made us a little picnic and brought it to us with iced tea. She must have moved away. I wonder if anyone lives here anymore."

"Wow," said the boy. Finally he and his father continued down the street.