The Warehouse

My father's sister, Louise, lived five hours away with her husband John. They lived in a semi renovated warehouse in a town called Valencia. They owned Fox's Antiques, and ran their store out of the basement of the warehouse. Upstairs were my cousins' bedrooms, two living rooms, kitchen, and dining room. In the back of the house was a giant room with odds and ends, and behind that room was my Uncle John's studio. He was, and is, a painter and poet. A third floor reached by an alarmingly open iron, twisting staircase, was where they had their room.

Drizzling rain and dense fog followed our car all through the mountain roads leading to Uncle John and Aunt Louise's warehouse in Pennsylvania. At the peak of my favorite mountain, the one with the "Sweetest Spot on the Mountain Candy Shop," the fog was so thick we could barely see. Creeping up the steep incline, I was delighted to see that the hefty white ship was still looming on the edge of the mountain. In it's glory, the shop had been a restaurant and hotel. Now it was a curious spectacle for tourists. As we drove past the ship like we had so many times before, I saw the paint had become more faded and cracked. Our family had only stopped at "Noah's Ark" once when I was a child. Going inside the ship was like stopping at any other rest stop, complete with greasy road food, smelly bathrooms, and cheap souvenirs. On the ship's outdoor deck, however, a dime in an old time periscope bought us a magnificent view of the lush, green hills.

The trip from our home in Maryland was a mixture of fatigue and excitement. Arrival was the best part. The warehouse always smelled of maple syrup and sausage. The sweet, smoky smell hit your nose as soon as you entered. From the gray, rainy night, the many track lights in the warehouse were a beacon of comfort to us. Uncle John and Aunt Louise would always be waiting up with delicious assortments of cheese and crackers, set to the sounds of classical music.

Uncle John was a Realism painter. Huge canvas paintings of people, looking like photographs, hung throughout the warehouse, all painted by him. One was of my older brother, another of Aunt Louise. One featured a big, sweaty lady on a bench at the boardwalk. Uncle John took pictures, and painted them into life.

Also hanging on the walls were glamorous looking ladies advertising everything from Lucky Strike cigarettes to soap and food. The stair way climbing up to the warehouse featured many antique advertisements. including old horror movies starring Bela Lugosi.

Being antique dealers, the Foxes used antiques functionally, even in their kitchen. I vividly remember Aunt Louis cooking on a real, caste iron stove while I sat at a bright yellow 1950's diner counter in their kitchen. The counter featured real stools that swiveled. Aunt Louise was, and still is, a great listener. The water in Valencia smelled strongly of sulfur. We drank bottled water, which at the time seemed like a delicacy.

The giant, maroon crushed velvet couch was my bed on our visits. The couch sat beneath a skylight in the expansive living room where the ceiling was higher than a Cathedral. Late at night, with the house quiet except for the occasional dull thumping of a train, I delighted to be the only one awake. Lying on the cozy couch, looking up at the stars, I felt at peace. The track lights all dimmed now, the only light shone from the kitchen. I was never scared of the dark at the warehouse.