Thursday, February 10, 2011

Baby, it's cold outside!

Wow, when the temperature outside equals your shoe size, you know it’s darn cold.  So, lying in bed this last night and this morning, wrapped in my worn but warm comforter, I listened as the house creaked, groaned and popped around me.  Ghosts?  Large squirrels?  Naw, it was just the old abode, settling in against the elements.  And then I realized, just like owners and their dogs, my house is me.

Okay, every morning my first movements sound like my house on a zero temperature day.  The first stretches prompt a pop in the elbows.  The back soon follows and then vaulting up, each knee fires a warning shot to all around – get out of the way, middle-aged woman needs to get to the bathroom 10 seconds ago!

Hubby and I produce fireworks in the bedroom every morning.  No, not those kind of fireworks; our combined stretches, groan, pops and creaks sounds like the ending stanzas of The Overture of 1812.  Okay, truth be told, the sad fact is that is doesn’t have to be cold outside to hear any of these sounds; it’s just a daily performance. 

But back to the house.  Do houses age like dogs; you know, seven dog years for every human year?  Or is my house really just 20 years old and I’m now aging like a dog; 7 years every 12 months?  God knows, I look around home sweet home and I see me.

Cracked paint - that reflection stares back at me every day in the mirror putting on my makeup.

Peeling paint - Did I mention that it is winter?  Like Pig Pen in the Charles Scultz “Peanuts” cartoon strip, I leave a trail of dead skin in a little cloud wherever I go.

Leaky ceilings – yea, well, refer above about my race to the bathroom every morning.  Enough said.

Sagging stuff - wow, what on me doesn’t sag?  Plastic surgery is appealing, not so much to remake myself but to just move my body’s real estate back into the right zip code!

Worn fill-in-the-blank – like my carpets and blinds, you can file my hair and wardrobe under this category.

Chipped, dented and broken – teeth, knees and back nerves.  Oh, and you can throw eyes and stomach ulcers on top of that pile, too. 

You might think I hate my house.  Well, truth be told – I love my house despite all the signs of age.  Maybe in fact because of the signs of aging!  The gouges in the wall that you know SOMEBODY made but no one will own up to reminds me that a family lives here.  The beat up carpets are a reminder that we have aging pets and their end of life issues need to be respected because I would probably lose my mind and murder them both if they piddled, pooped or horked up on new berber.  The less than attractive afghan strewn across the couch, with a color palette that matches nothing was lovingly made by a long deceased aunt or grandma.

Okay.  Buying a home is easy.  Living in a home is a lot like a marriage covenant.  Think of the wedding vows – you should have to recite something similar at your closing:

            I, homeowner, promise to take you (insert address here), for my lawfully wedded home.  I promise to be true to you (no excessive HGTV or Homearama attendance!) in good times (BBQs!  Parties!  Christmas Day!), and bad (Wind damage!  Dead lawns!  Stopped toilets!).

            I take you from this day forward for better (new appliances!) or worse (broken faucets); for richer (you own a house now!  Richer will never happen!  BWHAHAHA!) or poorer (Ok, poorer is more like it.  Poorer is a constant in home ownership – see leaky bathroom and aging pets); in sickness (C’mon now; where is the first place anyone in your family crawls when they’re feeling lousy?  You can probably still name every spot in the house where your kid looked at you and said “I don’t feel good” followed immediately by a gushing rush of vomit), and in health (home is where your greatest rejoicing is done); til death do you part (and then – this is the best part – everything listed above becomes your KID’S problem!  How awesome is that!)

So, if it sounded like a demilitarized zone at your house last night or you thought there was a drive by shooting in your neighborhood, relax.  It’s just your old pile of bricks and sticks wrapping you in warmth and love.  Oh, and your house was making noises too.  (Look out for that bus honey!)

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