continued from 11/22/2012 please read Part I first…
As I once again entered the hallway I glanced into the adjoining bathroom. I grimaced as I remembered how long I had put off remodeling this room. Now I wondered why I had waited so long. It was perfect; there was nothing to do here. Crossing the hallway I entered my favorite room of our home, the living room.
The “living room” described it perfectly. This is where our family congregated and we interacted the most frequently. The living room and adjoining dining room accommodated everyone, family and visitors alike. When we purchased our house, this room was dark, dingy, and dismal. Our first remodel job had been right here. We knocked down a wall that separated the rooms, painted the area a lively mint green, replace small outside windows with a large bay window ( which was beyond our budget), and added extra lighting fixtures. Holiday meals, card and slumber parties, had all started here. We never allowed a television in this room; this space was set aside for face to face communication only. Following my wife’s remodeling instruction; this area became the center of our universe.
Sitting in my rocker recliner, I stared out our bay window, watching the street scene as I had a million times before. I noticed the small hand smudges from a recent visit from our grandchildren. I cannot guess how many hand prints, tongue prints, nose prints, and footprints have been cleaned off this glassed area. The window seat served as a special place to stand for each toddler that passed through our household; it served as my children introduced their teenaged friends, as well as a host of other applications. I hope the new owners love this room as much as I have. With the exception of our worn furniture and the wooden floor needing wiped down with moisturizing oil, this room was ready to show. My wife’s singing stirred me from my thoughts and I got up from my recliner to join her in the kitchen.
As I entered her domain, she looked up smiling at me as she loaded her dishwasher. Our first foreign exchange student insisted on washing the supper dishes each night after our meals, deciding this should be one of her household chores. Several students followed throughout the years, and this became a tradition. Brazilian, Chinese, Japanese, Slovakian, and Russian students enriched our lives with their personalities and dishwashing abilities.
The kitchen was our most expensive renovation. After saving for several years to replace everything from the floor to the ceiling we found ourselves still short of funds. We had just returned from a couples retreat in Mexico where we had helped build a house for an impoverished family. We had joined a group of friends who pooled their money together to finance the trip and the building materials to build a small two room home for a needy mother and her three children. Our companions had discovered our plight and insisted we could meet our remodel budget if they donated their labor to our project. Three months of their constant supervision and assistance culminated in a kitchen masterpiece. I looked down at the final piece of baseboard that had waited years to be put in place. I had always felt if we completed this room, somehow the memory of the experience and the strengthened friendships during this experience might also end.
After lunch I moved downstairs with my list. I paused at the handrail leading to the basement floor. How many times had I watched both my children and grandchildren cling to this rail? A toddler’s balance being assisted down or up while navigating the new challenge of stairs. I now winced as I realized it served me the same purpose as I descended downstairs. I jot down the closet door that our son broke while losing his balance coming down the stairs. It’s a small item, but it will need repaired. I smiled as I remembered how embarrassed he looked stumbling down the stairs. Glancing in the extra bedroom formerly occupied of my daughter, I stared at the window that needs repaired and it reminded me that watching children run away is painful, and years later when they return, it is pure joy even when they bring someone back with them. I had avoided this room over the years. Painful tears pooled in my eyes as I gently sat on the bed and allowed memories to flood over me.
After sitting silently lost in my thoughts for what seemed like hours, l left the bedroom. I inspected the downstairs living area and adjoining bathroom. Separate collegiate loyalties dominated this room. Photographs of games attended, decorated the walls. Trash cans, shower curtains, throw rugs, and beanbag seating, all commemorate my wife’s and my alma maters. A fresh coat of paint might be needed in the living area, but not necessarily. In the corner sits the treadmill my wife promised we’d both use every day, if I purchased it. Currently, it sits in the corner as a reminder that buying excersie equipment does not guarantee its use. I glanced at the clock on the wall and made a mental note that once again I had skipped supper.
I poked my head in what used to be my son’s bedroom and surveyed my wife’s scrapbooking and sewing area. I thought about how nice it was for her to finally have a place of her own to store her supplies. Grinning, I thought to myself, how nice it was to have her things strung all over one room instead of all over the whole house. I would never admit it to her, but I did missed seeing her projects as they were being created. Making a mark on my list, I notated a few small items that would need attention in this room. Finally, I glanced into the laundry room and ascertained it needed to be painted and tiled. We had left it in this state all these years so we could claim the basement was unfinished, thus reducing our property taxes somewhat. I smiled to myself as I determined the next owners would have to pay the full value.
After coming upstairs, I entered our bedroom as my wife was finishing the novel she had been reading. She reached to turn out her light as I slipped under the covers. Lying in our bed, I stared at the ceiling pondering my daylong inspection. My mind was made up. “Honey,” I said emphatically, “This house needs too much repair before we could put it on the market. I’ve changed my mind; I don’t want to sell our home.” As she rolled onto her side away from me, she patted my leg and whispered, “I know, I know.”
-Author Edward Kentner