Tag Archives: bedroom

Sharing My World 41

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Proof that our winters here are seven months long.

SHARE YOUR WORLD – 2015 WEEK #49

What would be your ideal birthday present, and why?

I would like to have someone deposit a billion dollars in to my bank account with no strings attached, anonymously, tax free.  I believe that would make me deliriously happy.  Even though people say money can’t buy happiness.  Don’t you think it might be fun to test that theory and find out for yourself?  And see how long it would take to give the bulk of it away to people and causes you cared about?

But that’s probably asking for too much.  A gift certificate to Michael’s would be good too.

What color would you like your bedroom to be?

Deep purple with silver stars scattered all over the place.  It would be like sleeping in outer space.  Imagine a realtor trying to sell your house  totally flipping out about it.  At the moment it is a flat and rather boring creamy shade of pale yellow.  My whole house is a tribute to the colour yellow.  I have no idea why exactly, but yellow paint and I have this thing going on.  I pair it up with red, or blue, or orange, or brown, and it takes on all kinds of different characters.

Would you prefer snowy winters, or not, and why?

I do not like snow, never have and never will.  But I have always lived where there is lots of it for months at a time and have never experienced a winter without it so I don’t know if I would prefer it that way or not.  What in the world would I complain about all winter if there wasn’t any snow?

This year, so far, we have very little.  Yesterday it rained.  Christmas without snow will be weird if it happens.  But I have never been one to complain about weird.

Would you rather go a week without bathing, but be able to change your clothes, or a week without a change of clothes, but be able to bathe?

This is one of those crazy “this or that” questions where you don’t want to choose either one, because they are both equally disgusting.  Why must there be only two choices?  Why can’t we play “this, that, or the other thing”?

Okay, never mind, I will play along.  The biggest thing I hate about camping is never feeling clean if there is no way to have a hot shower every day.  I am much nicer to people when I’m clean.  So no change of clothes for a week seems like the lesser evil to me.

Bonus question: What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?

For one reason or another (maybe it’s connected to the lack of snow) there seems to be an amazing absence of pressure about all things Christmas for me this year.  The grandkids will be off skiing.  I’ve had cards on my desk for weeks but no ambition to sign and send them.  We put up a little artificial tree and outside lights on a timer and hung some junk on the doors and put some ornaments around the fireplace. I don’t want to do any Christmas baking because it’s all sugary crap that’s not good for anyone.  My sugars will go berserk if I have too many cranberries with my turkey.  So bah humbug, I guess.

Our house is still upside down until we can get rid of all the post hip surgery stuff that takes up so much room.  I can’t remember a Christmas when we’ve been off to a doctor’s appointment on the 23rd of December, so that will be a first.  Then we are hoping W gets the ok to drive again and we can get back to our version of normal.

And that’s all she wrote for another who knows how many days of relaxing and putting things off and getting very little done.  It’s a good life, even without the billion dollar birthday.

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Dear House

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Ever felt like writing a thank you letter to something you take for granted?  I mean without someone prompting you to do it?  Nope, me neither. (Because, duh, taking it for granted….)

Well this is not how I wanted to start a letter to my house, so let’s begin again.

Just like I don’t understand the need for ridiculous extravagance when you marry somebody, I don’t get it when it comes to building yourself a crazy-ass mansion to live in, with thousands of square feet that you love to look at and admire but rarely use.  There are many people in my life who have gorgeous new homes, or homes that are old but have been renovated to look like gorgeous new homes.  This is obviously important to them and makes them happy and that’s all good.  My house is not new, not renovated, and not gorgeous.  And that’s okay.

Dear House,

Hello.  Just wanted to let you know I love and appreciate you and I’m sorry for taking twenty-eight years to tell you this.

I don’t know how you felt about your builders way back in 1973,  or your first owners or your second.   But I’m pretty sure you loved us when we moved in all those years ago, right?  Because three’s a charm.  We were lucky to find you at a great price, and thankful that you didn’t need too many changes right away.  However, we wasted no time taking down those gawd-awful green drapes in your living room and getting rid of the brown leafy wall paper, a crappy carpet in one of your bedrooms and your ugly kitchen linoleum.  You’re welcome.  Eventually we got around to painting everywhere.  I hope you like the colors.  Or should I just say I hope you love yellow.  We promised you we would finish the unfinished room in the basement and put in another bathroom downstairs.

Yes, I know you’re still waiting.  But your attic needed new insulation, and your roof now has excellent shingles, and there’s the new kitchen counter and the beautiful new floor that looks like real wood and a new furnace to keep us both warm.  We do try to keep you clean and presentable.  Maybe gorgeous just isn’t in the cards for us.

Hey, we could have abandoned you and moved on and let somebody new fix you up properly, and that’s still a possibility for some bright day in the future.   I know I’ve used it as an excuse to delay the things that should be done, saying ‘what’s the point, whoever buys this house will probably change it anyway.’

Did that scare you, hearing me say it all the time?  I’m sure it’s gotten so old and repetitive now that you don’t pay attention to it anymore.

We no longer need the unfinished room to be finished, and the time when we really needed that extra bathroom has come and gone.  I AM promising you a renovated main bathroom before we leave,  because I think both of us are just completely sick and tired of purple in that seventies style.  A few more years and it will be an amazing retro feature – except that bathroom fixtures (even annoyingly durable purple ones) don’t last forever.

And right now you are beautifully functional and you suit us just fine.  Every one of your rooms holds wonderful memories of growth and change.  I look at the little bedrooms and remember who used to occupy them and how those teenagers grew up and left home and came back and left again.  And then how they brought their own little people here so that we needed the unfinished room to morph into a playroom.  And the downstairs bedroom to accommodate two beds and mattresses on the floor and the library to double as a guest room.  One of these days we won’t need all that.  We won’t be able to so easily go up and down your stairs or shovel your driveway or paint your ceilings.  You will be too big for us, and you’ll start longing for another family to fill your rooms with noise and laughter.

Meanwhile, we will continue to love you and look after you in our hap-hazard fashion and appreciate you until the time is right to let you go.  I don’t think there will be any new red walls in your immediate future, and I am trying really hard to stop hanging strange things on the ones you already have.  You may not be gorgeous, but wow, you have character and you are able to hold an amazing amount of junk.   You are warm and cozy in the winter and bright and breezy in the summer.  We are blessed to have you.

Thank you house, for being our very fine house.

Sincerely,

Charming Owners Number Three

(who love their home, have dubious interior decorating skills, but very big hearts.)

Leaving and Going Home

Home is something I have a sense of – it’s not just a building that shelters my family and our possessions, or the geographic point on the map where I was born. It’s the place where I can walk around in my bare feet, make a big mess and say whatever I want. It’s where my heart feels at peace and people know who I am – and quite possibly love me anyway.

I’ve been to the Pacific Ocean, the Arctic Ocean and the Atlantic (the one ocean I’ve crossed.) That’s a lot of physical distance covered, but how far I’ve made it away from ‘home’ is hard to measure.

Mostly the places I’ve travelled to have become my home. Maybe I just take home along with me wherever I go. When I leave my present home to travel to the other side of the country to visit family, I still call it going home, because that’s what it feels like. Even if it’s hard to pinpoint exactly where home is, I know when I’m going there.

I am a homebody, that’s for sure, despite all the nomadic wandering I’ve done. I’ve been homesick for different places, and the people who are there. Often my mind will go off on a million mile trip all by itself, but so far it’s always come back home. That’s the kind of ‘travel’ I prefer – the kind you do in a comfy chair with your eyes closed, confident that you’ll make it home in time for dinner.

The very best part of any other kind of travel, for me, has always been the part where I come back home, kick off my shoes, dump the contents of my suitcase on the bedroom floor and curl up in my very own bed.

Say these three little words to me and I will love you forever – “Let’s go home.”