"Leaping Leiper!" Original blueprints of "Glen Elm"

The following account of my boyhood home,
(and that of my parents and two sisters
one thirteen months and twelve days older,
and the youngest approximately
thirty months younger)
describes a homespun series
of unfortunate events analogous
to a blurred spinning pinwheel,
designating each color foretelling
joyful and sorrowful fates,
where pushpin or thumbtack
initially characterized our
(the Harris family) move
to former fixer/upper owned
for a brief duration
courtesy Nelson/Swartley
local estate barons, who both possessed
je nais se quois property buying zeal,
which brief poetic trials and tribulations
preface and essentially recount
thy childhood home that haint no more real
tempus fugit doth not heal
hollowed grief only death will seal
yet, yours truly makes mincemeat
out of above written spiel.
The following pseudo fact and fiction account attempts to delineate a sinosoidal curve of summer re: mansion that eventually fell prey to ruination and demolition.

Synonymous with fragile hulk anchored off shore her frail exterior no longer bows with stern weight beckoning with yen at suffering being weather beaten since about nineteen ten-embodying painstaking craftsmanship way back when...effort to build enduring domicile ruled as blueprint years later essentially necessarily a steal regarding den of thieves, but once upon a time extraordinary rich and hard folk fancying quilt and pen-predecessors of Barbie and their Ken erected complex edifice by strong strapping young men.

Since february 1968 occupied by thine then octogenarian widower father (since October 2020 deceased) echoing with ghosts at 324 Level Road (plus spirit of deceased mother), minus past occupants, whither err knot he visits berth of his lady friend who lives in Newtown/ Langhorne area fated to meet the wrecking ball, which hundred year old mansion once stately domain hosting crème de la crème, who received encore plaudits.

Now ivy rings around collars once visible slate patio-offering viewer lily padded fishpond, (where froggy went a courtin) below decks which once renown estate merely shrouded in dark shadows at the edge of night dominant, especially onset of twilight zone, versus former vestige of former radiant glory prompts this son to be somber and brood if perchance there might be an artisan with rehabilitation knack could and expend energy and time to mend (at this eleventh hour til steely knife jaws demolish this fixer upper before entire complex edifice like Humpty Dumpty doth crumble and fall.My father posted then removed sign for passersby, (whether on foot or via auto) to glance and read that indicated this original owner Captain Leiper located in register steered his shipshape tract titled "Glen Elm", a vast vibrant 100 + green acres this dilapidated home, now up for sale, yet nada buyer offered an acceptable price thus mine dada did decline agreed on deal with contractor, who bought scrappy spit of land coveted green acres bandied mere crumbs of "bread"explained by end of November 2012 demolition crews will raze (already a done deal done dirt cheap) crucible of memory without fail.

Hence this one and only pseudo prodigal son christened Matthew Scott Harris, whence previous January thirteenth two thousand twelve he passed thee half century + three year existential longevity mark decided to air his forlorn flagging stoned hope to elicit even a remote possibility to stave off annihilation of thine abode where many growing years up at lightning speed flew and in retrospect prompts this mind to reflect on those decades many of which seem stark awful if the habitat became a pile of rubble, thence prompting me to cry witnessing nada trace of creative ambition awash with innovations the hands of this father did carve and hew bye and bye his signature imprimatur very soon to become rubble of Uriah heap.

Before demolition crew razed complex edifice christened "Glen Elm,"I asked father if alone time could be arranged for last tearful visit to imbibe storied legacy regarding originally named aforementioned country estate. Over a hundred years old, the original property encompassed interestingly enough over one hundred acres. Circa nineteen sixty eight (February twenty eighth more precisely), both parents expressed mutual eagerness to acquire above named property. After mother dearest passed away approximately ~ early May 2005, the then newly minted late septuagenarian widower (papa) experienced depression. After spending approximately half century as married man, his avocation to gentrify sprawling mansion (back in the day, a mecca for wealthy landowning aristocrats) dramatically plummeted. Upon posting the house for sale (once resplendent abode included formal gardens and servant staff, who occupied residence where Groff's live) with negligible success. The never ending tasks to sustain safe haven no longer appealed to former vibrant and physically fit sir to helped beget yours truly. Many innovative embellishments busied papa weekends and/or days of the week employed (with clearance) scheduled and approved time to he taken off as career mechanical engineer at General Electric Aerospace Division. His personal touch heavily garnished the sprawling dwelling over the ensuing five plus decades he (and mother) created welcoming home domicile. As yearly anniversaries elapsed marking the passing of his once young flirtatious bride, he felt considerably less ambitious to leave signature creative flair. Thus date and time arrived when the lofty structure met the wrecking ball with Miley Cyrus writhing sexual provocative poses. My opinion (though unsolicited feedback imparts nothing to this vignette), she looked much more attractive as Hannah Montana. Nostalgia (sprinkled with sadness) consciously aware what ill fate would level countless trials and tribulations punctuating formative growing up experiences linkedin to 324 Level Road. Stray tears then (final adieu) and now rivers of sorrow stream down cheeks. Impossible mission if bajillion dollars filled every pocket belonging to each pair of pants donned by this sentimental fellow. Never would ample wealth bequeathed, nor amassed viz crowdfunding across the world wide web. Sudden sobering reality found me to swallow with difficulty as if massive obstruction lodged lump in my throat. If only special effects could could allow, enable, and provide shrink down the expansive sturdy slumbering residence. Meanwhile with digital cameras in tow, this contemplative, furtive, introspective, lithesome, ornery, quasi recluse ultra sensitive vagabond zealously opened the front door.
"Leaping Leiper!" Original blueprints of "Glen Elm" -- continued

I went straight to the attic fast as these spindle shanks could muscle. Though feeling a bit clammy anticipatory anxiety in tandem with musty garrett yours truly set himself to task. No matter I lived better part of mine existence with faded glory of former grandeur, thee ambition to venture into whirled wide cobweb strewn squirrel riddled catacombs never lit figurative fire under my keister. Now upon impending annihilation regarding any vestige of cherished humble abode, an urgency woke within me to ferret out the parchment delineating architectural plan before the cornerstone (or foundation stone or setting stone) first cornerstone set in the construction of masonry foundation. All other rolling stones would be set in reference to this stone, thus determining the position of the entire structure. Many moons ago one descendent (the next younger generation) drove up rutted driveway within elderly (classy attired) older lady. While seated within passenger of authentic mint condition 1910 Packard, she spontaneously waved in my direction. Unsure if said hand signal linkedin with friendly greeting, or most likely fanning the soundcloud of dust away. A brief terse monologue got uttered intimating, she instant felt palpable displeasure, née outright anger regarding squalid condition of what constituted an immaculately conceived ornately fashioned summer getaway. Believe me you, the unusual, original, and initial residents, said dignified elderly woman probably conceived, and most definitely attested to taking first breath outside the womb within one of the spacious bedrooms. The sorry sight (lamely lethargic) weather beaten characteristics, no longer exemplified dignified charm. She (namely the chauffeur who exited to leave in a huff hour), could not suffer further insult, as if afore alluded to one lone Leiper granddaughter owned the property, and not my parents. Amidst indistinct staccato despair, a reference got made to drawing plans stashed away within some obscure nook. Ah... thee spontaneous drive back to the future included sole impossible mission to secure such valued documentation. Recollection of one aristocrat besotted with humiliation (courtesy natural subjection to swiftly tailored harry styled elements of mother nature) took heavy toll when another era populated magnificent estate with fancy exclusive social galas. Never again did that ethereal ghost like dame mosey on over to hollow out grandeur. Meanwhile, that singular hint of tangible drafts sketching out design of vacation domicile, (which methought then mere fabric action) nagged at mine curiosity. The slated demise activated proactive decision to burrow into boarded up cubbyholes off limits since moving out. Enormous undertaking to wiggle thru hidden crawl spaces only promised grim outcome. Unknown alien creatures could easily make mince meat of yours truly. Understandable physiologically pronounced increased trepidation issued manifesting manifold within an ordinary reluctant persona.

Hours got spent doggedly engrossed locating any telltale wisp, which sought after hint or shred of veritable validity futilely spent analogous looking for needle in haystack. Though disappointment awoke unable to experience height of exhaltancy never discovering visa vis hand drawn freelance rough or final draft presenting unbuilt facade of custom built mansion, I did downsize bold endeavor, and settled on scrutinizing an outdated fully clothed manikin, I skirted earlierwhen embarking on quest to behold prized delicate papers revealing floor to ceiling plans of "Glen Elm." Nonchalant reflex found inquisitive fingers of mine frisking headless gender neutral model. Hands sought out pockets and naturally folded around loose change, plus well worn paper money circa early nineteen hundreds. Methought, I could bank on receiving a tidy sum eagerly paid me by reputable coin collector, who also buys silver.