Tuesday, April 23, 2013
I know I've been hard on you this winter. But you've suffocated me with your walls, and frustrated me to no end with your various flaws. I've tried to take good care of you, but you know, because of your age, you are high maintenance. As soon as I help you present yourself well in one area, hunting down someone I can trust you with, and then shelling out our hard-earned cash, up crops another issue. You've been acting sort of diva-ish all winter long and diva-ish does not fly around here, you know that.
The leak in the kitchen window was the final straw-sometimes you push me to far. I started looking around, I'll admit it. I started looking around to see what else is out there. Other houses started looking more attractive to me. New houses without your issues and baggage. Houses that have mudrooms in particular and with enough bedrooms to give us a little more room to spread out. Houses that don't leak when it rains, distribute heat evenly throughout, and whose paint in fresh and unflawed. Baseboards, bright white and undented. You know I can't resist me a shiny baseboard! A house where we know what we are getting right upfront, with no secrets behind the walls and under the floors.
I've tried to work with you this winter. I've had people in-people who know what they are talking about, to try to change you. You always put up a fight when it comes to change. You can't support this addition or that, you complicate my exciting plans till I just throw up my hands in defeat. You are stubborn and you always have to get your way.
I went for a walk last week, in the evening and as I rounded the corner home, I saw you glowing. You looked like home to me, not just a house. I was still mad at you though, honestly, I'll tell you-half the reason I went on a walk was to get away from you, and gawk at some of the other homes in the neighborhood. But then when I saw you, standing there, looking so-well, homey and warm and sweet, filled with my life as I know it-I felt a pang of guilt at my betrayal. I began to imagine leaving and well...my stomach hurt.
And then...and then. It's 80 degrees and sunny out one unusually warm day a week later. The baby naps, I scrub the floors. I throw open every single one of your windows. I take down your winter battens, and put up your screens. I pull up the rugs and dust you off. I polish and scrub.
I let the warm spring breeze in. If there is anything you are good at it, it's redeeming yourself to me once again. The way you circulate the air in the front and out the back is dreamy. The beautiful light from your big bay window fills the family room. Outside the ivy is climbing up the brick wall, and blossoms are bursting from your trees. Darn you!
You are not perfect. By far. You could use some improvement. I know though, that I can study your flaws, and look at your shortcomings or I can accept that I cannot change you-I loved you once just the way you were not too long ago-you are indeed old and stubborn and set in your ways, but you've got character. Lots of it. I know I've expected too much of you. Contentment is always a work in progress and I was weak this winter. I've slipped up a little and fallen for that old "the grass is always greener" adage. Forgive me for that.
So here's my plea- let's begin a new relationship. Keep the breeze coming, the paint sticking, and the rain outside. I'll do my best to see your bright side.