On the Threshold

I’m addicted to home improvement shows. I think it’s because I like to live vicariously through people who have actually taken the step of either demolition of their living space or at least have taken steps to make their homes more livable. Call me a weenie, but I think I would rather rearrange my living space than to make the final leap into altering my physical surroundings. Gads, but I love to rearrange furniture.

However, I see-saw back and forth on being gung ho about doing home improvement or wanting to bury my head in the sand about things that need to get done. Namely, I hate doing projects on my own – except when I don’t. When I had first met my now husband, I was in the process of ripping up the hideous green carpet in the front room. He came by one night after work – he was working until midnight in those days – and we talked for what seemed hours while I slowly peeled back nasty carpet and padding thicker than some mattresses on the market these days. Thank God the hardwood floor beneath was absolutely pristine. My grandmother must have put it down the day she and my father moved in.

Let me clarify…

I inherited the home I grew up in. Yep, the same room that I sit in now, typing away, is the same room where I learned to walk. And where I used to do indoor Easter Egg hunts when it was raining. And where I studied at the dining room table, despite it not really being a dining room. And so many, many more memories that I won’t ramble on about.

And it’s f-ing hard some days. But other days, there’s nothing more awesome than thinking about raising kids in the same house I was raised in. Plus, it’s paid for. I suppose I am very lucky in that regard. In today’s housing market, I don’t have to worry about a house note. And the house is pretty nice, although five animals and two reluctant homeowners make for a less than showcase presentation.

But it’s a three-bedroom ranch-style home that butts up to a creek on the back side of the property. Meaning, no neighbors behind us. Which ROCKS! Not to brag, but I don’t think I could have done much better if I had made the attempt myself. My father bought the house in the late 60’s. I think I recall him telling me that the realtor showed him three houses and he picked the cheapest. Regardless, I’m near major shopping, Intersecting interstate highways, and while I didn’t enjoy my tenure in the school district, it nonetheless is highly ranked. Someday the housing market will improve and I think I’ll do well if we ever decide to sell.

But only if we update the bathrooms and the kitchen. I have gold-flecked white Formica countertops and faux wood grain Formica cabinets in all three rooms. Be not jealous.

Tonight, I recovered the seats of the two bar stools that go with my kitchen table. I suppose it’s really the cats’ table, as their food sits high above the dogs reach. But the fabric that covered the seats was extremely light in color. And solid to boot. So any stains were very visible.

Not any more.

And while it’s certainly not going to increase the value of the home, it is but one step in the right direction of making this place Barry and my own. Someday, we’ll truly – and literally – carve out our own niche here. Until then, lots of little changes can, over time, add up to something big.

Or so I keep telling myself.