I’m house hunting. It’s not my first time, but this time is different. This time, it’s all about me. (Well, it’s about my dog, Annie, and me. But I’m confident that she’d be happy if we lived in a cardboard box, as long as I was home a lot.)
Also
different this time: I “staged” my house for sale, first by myself and then
with a professional stager hired by my Realtor. Staging basically means “going
neutral” in terms of a color scheme, and packing away or covering anything remotely
interesting. OK, that last part is somewhat of an exaggeration, but only a bit.
My bedroom? “A lot of personality,” advised my Realtor. I was initially taken aback,
but a Google search for “home staging” backs her up. “They need to see your
home, not your stuff,” writes Matthew Finlanson, host of HGTV’s The Stagers. He
says that “taking yourself out of the picture makes it easier for buyers to
imagine themselves, and their stuff, in your space.”
Whateva.
Their stuff. My stuff. It’s all just stuff. Like most Americans, I have way too
much of it. Armed with Hefty bags, boxes and packing tape, I jumped on the
“staging” bandwagon with the precision of a surgeon with no emotional
connection to his patient. Every Sunday night for weeks, I filled my garbage
and recycling bins to capacity and made regular runs to Goodwill.
But a funny thing happened as I removed the Obama magnets from the fridge, packed away the framed construction paper self-portrait of my son in middle school, and transformed my meditation altar into a decorative shelf. I realized that I like my home like I like my friends -- with plenty of personality. And much of that personality comes from the things that surround me.
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| Before |
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| After |
Sure, they’re just things, and I was overdue for some weeding. But I don’t see the harm in appreciating those items that made the cut (even if some are stored in boxes until my house meets its new inhabitants). There’s pleasure and comfort in surrounding yourself with objects that you love, whether it’s because they’re especially useful, richly sentimental or just pleasing to look at.
My home is filled with original art I’ve collected from my travels during the last 30 years. Among the most special are my oldest pieces: the onyx chess set from Tijuana, Mexico, that I lugged on the plane with my carry-on luggage after an internship at the LA Times; the Mayan parade batik from my honeymoon in Mexico (the marriage didn’t last, but the artwork endures); and the Montreal watercolor that my late father bought me from a street artist during a rare vacation together.
I think, or
hope anyway, that I’ve passed on to my son the idea that art makes the best
souvenir. He’s off to a great start with a set of New York City skyline photographs
from a family East Coast trip; a handmade sword he picked out from the factory
in Toledo, Spain; and an official reproduction of his favorite painting, Goya’s
The Third of May 1808, from the Prado in Madrid.
Reproductions
are fine, but there’s something particularly powerful about purchasing a piece directly
from the artist whose hands created it. My mother and I do this about every
other fall, at the St. James Art Fair in Louisville. I met the metalworker who designed
my wall clock with the twisty second hand; the woodworker who carved my desk clock with a swinging pendulum; the
glass artist who blew life into my window vase; and clay artists who formed numerous
pieces of pottery I use very day.
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Sometimes, you don’t even have to leave home to find a cherished item. One of my favorite wall paintings is a print of Girl Reading by Lexington, KY, artist Linda Horvay, a friend and fellow church member.
Reproductions
are fine, but there’s something particularly powerful about purchasing a piece directly
from the artist whose hands created it. My mother and I do this about every
other fall, at the St. James Art Fair in Louisville. I met the metalworker who designed
my wall clock with the twisty second hand; the woodworker who carved my desk clock with a swinging pendulum; the
glass artist who blew life into my window vase; and clay artists who formed numerous
pieces of pottery I use very day..JPG)
Sometimes, you don’t even have to leave home to find a cherished item. One of my favorite wall paintings is a print of Girl Reading by Lexington, KY, artist Linda Horvay, a friend and fellow church member.
Soon, that
girl will be reading in a new home. I’ll be packing all my treasures with care,
where they will decorate a new stage, worthy of the next act (or two or three)
of my life.
*******
Anyone
notice that this post is dated about 13 months since my last one? It’s hard to believe
that it has been more than a year. As the months passed by, I had what I thought
were some pretty good ideas. I started several posts. But I just didn’t make it to the “publish” button.
Maybe my lofty standards got in the way of progress (a recurring theme in my
life), or maybe I just wasted too much time watching back-to-back Big Bang
Theory reruns on TBS. That’s the tricky thing about a hobby such as blogging.
You want enough discipline to keep it interesting, but not so much that it
becomes another “have-to-do” in a “have-to-do” filled life.
Anyway,
I hope to be writing a bit more regularly. “Once a week would be ideal,” my
good friend Bridget helpfully suggested. That’s not going to happen, but I will
do my best to shoot for once a month. And I will
take her advice to experiment with some shorter posts. Thanks to Bridget and
all of my friends for their continued encouragement. It’s good to be back.
