Good Morning.
I spent the first fourteen years of my life in a house where nothing was new and nothing matched. The walls in the living room were painted cream, the rug was rose, and the curtains were long and gray on the side window but short and filmy on the bay window in front. The couch was yellow, the Victorian settee was uncomfortable, an easy chair was blue, and a wing back was a floral print. Every other room was just as much of a mish mash. Outside, the lawn was cleared of crab grass and dandelions by digging them out, and the garden, an array of red roses, purple phlox, and orange poppies, was watered by hand. The yard furniture was metal and worn, and a swing featured a wooden seat between two lengths of rope that hung from a tree. I did not grow up in a crummy neighborhood; I grew up in one that had been sitting around for awhile like good wine.
Today's homeowners, a lot of them anyway, want everything inside and out ready for a magazine or television shoot. The resident couple fusses about carpeting versus hardwood floors and white cabinetry or dark cherry in the kitchen. They complain about the popcorn ceiling, the lack or even the pattern of granite countertops, and the shower in the master bath that should be able to accommodate at least two adults fully unclothed. They expect two sinks in each of the three or four other bathrooms to ensure family harmony. Both parents require an office, with one also needing a man cave equipped with a TV the size of Texas, a wet bar, and seating for a dozen. The idea of having the kids nearby for quick tending has been replaced, by some at least, with a desire to have a private master retreat down the hall or down the stairs with a midnight cry for help conveyed through a baby monitor. The parental suite must have a walk-in closet the size of a garage, and the real garage must be able to hold a minimum of three vehicles plus an assortment of toys that may include a riding lawnmower, a snowmobile, a jet ski, and an ATV. The yard, sprayed with pesticide to ensure its lushness, is equipped with a sprinkler system that pops up even when it's raining.
After the house is all done up to apparent perfection, whatever that means and with or without professional assistance, the owners scowl at it and sputter because it doesn't feel right, and off they go to junk shops, flea markets, and rummage sales to find old doors, vintage light fixtures, and something unique to replace the boring bathroom vanity. They hunt for natural wicker for the patio and interesting containers for the plants, and they start growing their own vegetables and drying herbs for the winter. The place needs character, they declare on national television, and they are correct.
Best regards,
Elisabeth
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