19 April 2014
Yesterday afternoon, Robert & I enjoyed a sunshiny outing. We've no stoop per se, so we borrowed someone else's. We sat on the steps in the shade of a tree (for an hour? two hours?) and we talked about where we should move next year, and about maybe picking up tennis this summer. He admired a bed of daffodils. And we talked about our dream house -- of porches and stoops, and a small backyard, of white walls, of wide windows, and archways, of nooks and crannies, of soft-spoken antiqueness, of history...of dark hardwood floors -- of tiny feet running across them.
And on the way home, we passed this building, which we stopped to admire for a few minutes. The heavy wooden doors, the golden pulls, stained glass, silver-painted radiator -- and the looming white columns, the sun-shaped light fixture. There's a patch of grass that runs around it -- perfect for lounging with a book on summer mornings. I had to look it up, the Perrenoud, when we got home. The building, in the Swallow Hill Historic District, was constructed in 1901 by three sisters -- Adele, Zelie, and R. Louise -- and in its heyday, the building functioned as a sort of private club -- on the lower level was a kitchen with a full time chef, a dining room, a ballroom, staffed laundry, maids and servants. The building still houses a birdcage elevator -- the last functioning one in Denver. I've a habit of getting all caught up in histories -- I like to hear people's stories, and I like to know the histories of places, of things, too. So there's a bit about the Perrenoud, and how we passed it on a warm Friday in April -- one busy with daydreams.