My husband and I live in a 100+ year old house. I’ve been meaning to create some sort of time capsule and hide it in the house for someone to find in 30-50 years. I finally got the chance to write our house story, which I’m presenting here. I plan to include a handwritten and typed version, laminate them, and attempt to slip them behind a mantle in our bedroom.
August 26, 2022
Hi,
By the time you find this, I will be long gone. You see, as of today my doctors told me I have less than six months to live. Bummer, right? I’ve been wanting to do this, to write a note about my husband and I’s time spent in our beloved home, which is yours now. I hid this note so that it would be discovered 30-50 years from now. So, here goes.
I’m Christy Lorio, age 42 as of this writing. My husband is Thomas Fewer. He turns 49 in a few days. I grew up on the West Bank in Marrero, very close to Barataria Preserve. Thomas grew up in upstate New York, then lived in Ohio for a few years. We met when Thomas moved to New Orleans in 2000. I was 20 at the time. We both worked at Arnaud’s, that grand dame restaurant in the French Quarter. We started dating officially shortly after I turned 21, got married in 2004. I eventually moved in, and he rented the house until Hurricane Katrina hit in 2005. We made the tough decision to move to Scottsdale, Arizona. We stayed there for 3.5 years, until we were drawn back home in 2008. I moved first, then Thomas moved a few months later in 2009, when he secured a job here.
In 2010, we were getting coffee at [redacted] on [location redacted for privacy], when we saw a “for sale” sign on our old house. Let me backtrack for a second. When we rented this house, a litter of kittens was born on the front porch. All of them were spayed, neutered, fed, and loved. Out of the litter, two stuck around— Runty and Tigre. Those cats let us pick them up and hold them like babies, but the second we closed the door when they were in the house, they would freak out. Sadly, when we evacuated for Katrina, we couldn’t bring them with us. They were too feral and wouldn’t have been able to transport them with us. We left them here begrudgingly, and asked a neighbor to feed them.
Fast forward to 2010, when we pulled up in the parking lot. Thomas spotted Runty in the yard. That was a sign that we needed to move back in. We closed on the house that February, the same time period when I turned 30 and The Saints won The Super Bowl.We had to take pictures of the house for our insurance company a few weeks later, so we posed next to the house in our Mardi Gras costumes.
We’ve always lived on the [address redacted] side and rented out the [address redacted] side. We’ve had some great tenants over the years. As of 2022, our longest tenant was Karen, who lived on the other side for six years.
In 2013 I went back to school to finish bachelor’s degrees (I graduated with two!) at 33 years old. My first class back was History of New Orleans. For our final project, we had to do research on a topic of our choosing. I landed on doing research on our house. I didn’t find anything particularly interesting. All I found were some newspaper classified ads for the lot, which puts the house being built somewhere between 1908-1911. I also found yard sale and for rent ads.
Even though our house history was a tad boring, when I searched for [address redacted] I found some explosive articles. There used to be a house where the coffee shop parking lot now is. The house was razed to make a parking lot for what was then a bank. (The bank was still there when we rented the house in 2000-2005.) That wasn’t the interesting part. In 1966, before the house was razed, a daughter shot and killed her mother and sister in the house. Her name was Joyce Carpenter. The mother was Stella and Doris was the daughter. Quickly, my school project became about the Carpenters. I found multiple articles in the newspaper archives. I even reached out to one of Joyce’s lawyers, but he claimed that he didn’t remember the case. I won’t go into all the details, but a few years later I found where Stella and Doris were buried and drove out to Bay St. Louis, Mississippi and found them. I cried when I found the tombstone. Even though the murder of these complete strangers happened long before I was born, I was so engrossed in their story that I was saddened by their loss.
Anyway, on to happier times. My husband and I love this house. We adore all the original architectural details, such as the millwork, original transoms, and the stained glass. Now, we have two different feral cats. Runty died at 15 years old and Tigre at 12 years old. Before they passed on to that big litter box in the sky, I had their portraits tattooed on my thighs. Now, we have two new feral cats, who have been at the house for 10 years. They are Sir Fluffs-A-Lot and Stripey. They aren’t as comfortable with us as Runty and Tigre were. They rarely let us pet them, which is unfair since we’ve been feeding these bastards for 10 years. Oh well, we love them nonetheless and I’d like to think they keep the rats away. We also get the occasional possum on the back porch and a gang of raccoons sometimes steals all the cat food.
Here I sit on August 26, 2022, reflecting back on my life in a way I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t sat down to write this. I realized I didn’t say much about Thomas. He is my true soul mate, my best friend, and my husband. We’ve been together for half my life. He’s a licensed counselor by trade. We enjoy a lot of the same activities. For the past three summers, we’ve travelled west to Sedona, Arizona to hike. Thomas is a singer, plays the piano, and is an avid reader. He also enjoys performing improv comedy. He has been my rock for these 20+ years and has been by my side throughout my four years of living with stage IV cancer. I won’t say more about cancer because I don’t want to give cancer more page space than it deserves. I have cancer, but it doesn’t define who I am.
I hope whenever, whoever discovers this note gets joy out of it. Just know that this house was loved, and it was an integral part of our lives.