“It’s time to sell this old house and upgrade,” I announced to my wife as we left for our regular Saturday morning brunch. At first she wasn’t interested, claiming the old house held too many memories for us to sell. After months of relentless persuasion, I convinced her to join me in looking at available homes in a newer, upscale neighborhood.
She loved the vaulted ceilings with polished oak beams. The pyramid style front of the homes combined with the Great Room windows offered the feel of entering a vacation resort. The gleaming granite countertops and matching floor tile in the kitchen were as elegant as anything we’d ever seen. It did not matter that every house in the development shared the same or a similar floor plan and building materials. The house we would choose would be “special” to us. On our way home, my wife agreed to let me begin the repairs that would be necessary to place our house on the market.
I had been formulating a list of items that would need attention. I began early the next Saturday morning. I had taken my bride of forty years to breakfast and while we were eating I asked again that she was OK with selling our house. I was delighted when she responded yes. I could barely contain my excitement.
Coming through the front door, I grabbed the pencil and pad that I had laid on the entry table as we left for breakfast. I began my inspection upstairs in the loft. The first few years we owned our home it had served as a storage room, and then it was transformed into a music studio for practicing horribly excruciating trombones and trumpets. A short-lived interest in art prompted adding easels, pads, and paints to the studio mix. It seemed several years ago, as I smiled remembering the unbearable sounds that emitted from this room. I smiled while remembering my wife’s positive comments as she told each musician “of course I recognize that tune.” The portraits produced by our oldest daughter seemed to have promise, but hung on the walls of our dining room.
After several years of non-use, I painted the walls neutral beige, laid a wooden floor, and converted it into the Man’s Room. Over the years it became my sanctuary to watch the big games on television, play poker on the Internet, or to just get away from the noise and activity downstairs. As I looked around the room, I quietly nodded my head and thought to myself, everything is perfect here, no changes are needed.
Leaving the loft I headed down the stairs to the hallway that connects the main floor rooms together. Light fixtures, flooring, and paint all looked good. Next, I peered in my office, which in a previous time had been a bedroom. I sat down in the executive office chair the kids had all gone together to buy many happy Christmases ago. I reminisced how electrified I had been when I sat in this chair as my son announced he had been accepted into the most prestigious college in our state to begin his pre-medical classes. I also remember sitting in this very chair when the same son humbly confessed that he had lost his scholarship and had waited two months into the semester before mustering the courage to call and tell us. It was only after reaching a point of desperation that he was forced to call and ask for help and understanding. This room was converted back into his bedroom where several months later I councilled him not to give in to depression, assuring him he would find his way. And he did.
To be continued……11/23/2012