The Front Porch

I grew up in a neighborhood where the people – like the two-bedroom ranch houses – were all alike. Short. Squat. White. The only color came in the rows of red geraniums regimentally planted in the flower beds at parade rest.

And then I went to college to study art and thought that I would put down roots in the neighborhood that surrounded UWM, because it was where I found “my people.” Unfortunately, putting down east side roots required coughing up a hefty down payment and no matter how many sofa cushions I looked under, or old coat pockets we went through, my husband and I came up a little short.

We were looking for an old house, something with a big yard, because we were going to have lots of kids – or dogs, we couldn’t decide. We found our fixer upper in a part of Milwaukee called Silver City. And, first impressions? Well, I have to say I felt a bit embarrassed for the old girl, much in the same way I did whenever I saw tabloid pictures of movie stars caught without their make up on. Have you seen Charlize Theron? Oh. My. God.

The house on 33rd street was a fading painted lady. Her front sagged (at over 100 years old my front would sag too), her sill was rotted, her stature had demurred, but, like Charlize, she had good bones. We dove in. Upgraded. Sanded. Stripped. Boiled. Ripped.

We decided to paint her in 3 colors – olive green, a darker green and a red. My parents, who still lived in the same subdivision, in the same house that I grew up in, thought we were nuts.

That was back in 1983, and we’ve only just had to have her re-painted. This time we ramped it up to 4 colors – a lighter green, gold, red and dark green. We added the red color at the last minute because the painters kept calling it The Green Bay Packer house, and while I am a fan, well . . . even I thought that was a bit too much.

Okay, I’ve got a lot of friends who live in Shorewood – I bet a picture of a tree-lined, bungalowed street just popped into your head, am I right? Other friends who live in ‘Tosa (cue up another tree-lined street) and others who live in Brookfield (insert standard subdivision image here!)

They all want to know about my neighborhood, why I live there – oh, that's fodder for another blog posting – and then they’ll ask me to describe it . . . and, I never had a succinct answer until now.

I live in . . . a neighborhood of color. Vibrant. Bold. Where the people are as diverse as the architecture – Milwaukee bungalows, Victorian worker’s cottages, brick colonials, houses designed by Wright and Russell Barr Williamson. White houses with green trim? Oh, please! Try something in a lime green and teal with rose accents. Lipstick red front doors. Purple trim. And, guess what? The families who live inside those candy-colored cottages, they’re not gloomy people. How can they be?

My favorite houses sit side by side on Greenfield Avenue. One is lime green, the other is a blue that reminds me of the warm waters off the coast of Puerto Vallarta.
On a dreary November day they dare me to be depressed, and guess what? Not going to happen.