In which I inherit a neglected mansion (writing prompt)

Today’s writing prompt is what I would do with a run-down mansion I’ve inherited–money is no object.

It poses an interesting thought in my mind. My imagination runs wild–not about the repairs, and what it would look like, what sort of furnishings I’d have and material possessions I would fill it with–but my daydreams of said scenario jump to the life I’d like to have in the house. Meaning, who would I share this house with? Will I be on my own forever in this house? Will I someday down the line have someone–the someone–I’ve dreamed of finding? What would his needs be? But since he is not here yet–and may never be here–do I need to worry about this at all?

So I have decided that I will leave an area open for him to have his man cave. I shall remain hopeful, but I must progress.

To start, a thorough home inspection would be performed, and all necessary repairs to the roof, heating and cooling systems, plumbing, etc. would take place. New locks installed, as well as a security system. The backyard would be filled with vast rolling green hills; the front, a well-manicured lawn. White balls of hydrangeas line the walkway to the gray brick home. Inside, white oak hardwood flooring, sterling white crown moulding, pale gray walls. Ceiling-high windows, dressed with thick steel-gray drapes would adorn the main room. A piano would be necessary in the home; I do not play, but the piano is my favorite instrument. I cannot imagine a house so grand without being blessed with live music. It feels like there should be a violin and cello there too, just in case. And somewhere, in this great house, a room to exercise, a place to meditate.

A library. There must be a reading room. With a window seat, where I can sit and stretch my legs out in front of me. When the rain thrashes against the window, I can curl up with a blanket and a cat and a cup of tea and while the storm rages outside I can get lost in another world.

A spacious kitchen. Oh, how I’d love to have a kitchen larger than 10×13 feet… especially as a baker. Sage-green walls, espresso-colored cabinetry, ebony granite countertops, stainless-steel pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, an island, a double oven. The desire to cook overwhelms. Planning menus for family gatherings–being able to keep company in the kitchen while I make scratch tomato and alfredo sauces for pasta parties, and chocolate-ganache coated fudge cakes. To host a crowd of friends for movie nights! Which leads to…

A theater. I’m aiming big here–remember, money is no object–so I’d have a movie room, with recliners and cuddly blankets. I want my guests to be comfortable. Of course, the cats would be more than happy to oblige us with their presence by curling up in a lap in contented bliss. Surround sound, high definition. Best part is, we can pause the movie for bathroom breaks.

Oh, a bathroom. What I would do to have a bathtub where I could soak myself completely in a mound of fluffy bubbles. To have a candlelit bath, with fluffy white bath towels. Or to have a candlelit bath with that someone… in that beautiful, high-ceilinged snow-white room, with dimming lights and heated flooring, white roses in vases…

Because, at the end of the day, it would be pretty lonely to own a house that large, and not share it with someone (other than a furry, four-footed creature). Hey, I did save a room for him. Maybe he’ll be a writer and need space for his work. Or a musician, and require a place to compose his songs and record. Or just have his own place to decompress and spend time in solitude. I’m not clingy; I’m OK with this. We all have different needs. I like to think that someone is out there. Because, like Joan Wilder in Romancing the Stone, I don’t think of myself as a hopeless romantic, but a hopeful one.




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