Her Little House

A friend called me this morning to tell me that the house my adored friend Laura Nyro owned is for sale.  I seldom think of the house but when I do, it is almost blinding with warmth and light.  I googled the sale and looked at the pictures.  There is little remaining of her touch there; though I know exactly where her ashes rest with Ember. 

The ad shows pictures of the big house on the road.  She did not live there at all.  A wonderful couple rented the big house.  Maria's painting studio was up the outside stairs.  Laura lived in the little house, across the pond.  The only picture of Laura's true house that I have is the one in the misguided Kort biography.  You can see the Gypsy parked outside which is the first home of Laura's I was ever in.  It was parked in the Magic Speller Bookstore's parking lot as Laura brought her new baby boy to visit. 

The second home I visited was in Amherst.  I spent a week with Laura, Maria, Gil, and the Belgian Tervurans.  Maria had a studio upstairs and a little guest room where I slept.  Maria was painting interpretations of the Dutch Masters at the time and, in particular, Vermeer  After knowing her and her work for over 15 years, it was the first time I saw yellow in her pallet.  I am certain she was deeply happy.  This duplex was walking distance from Emily Dickinson's house which led me to marvel at the birds, insects and foliage in their shared neighborhood with even greater scrutiny. 

Then they moved back to the Danbury house and I went there many times including March and April of 1997.  I have so many memories that I foster as to not let them fade.  So to see the house listed today, to know that her ashes, her pond, her land is for sale is assailing.  I know where she lived.  I know where she died.  No realtor knows this; maybe no one knows this.  And many secrets, bright and dark, will die with me.