I am a sucker for HGTV home renovation shows. I have a good eye but lack the building and organizational skills that might offer me a career flipping houses, curating properties, or restoring old homes to their previous glory. The idea of flipping houses doesn’t appeal to me much because the process becomes more about the money than the home. Curating properties or selling real estate requires far too much “peopleing” for this introvert. But, oh, the notion of finding a place lost and abandoned begging for a second chance at becoming home leaves me feeling warm and mushy.
As a child, I would see empty farmhouses and decrepit barns and try to imagine who lived there. Was the house built by a young man full of dreams for his future bride? Did they sit on the porch and watch their children and grandchildren play? Did they suffer through the Great Depression or lose a child to an illness easily cured by modern medicine? Were their lives touched by war? Did they celebrate birthdays and anniversaries with their neighbors on the next farm over? Did they find refuge in church on Sundays? Was this building, their home, a sanctuary?
My romantic mind can envision how old homes may have looked in their prime, but I also have modern ideas about how spaces can be used to facilitate conversations and rest. Is it any wonder I love these shows?
HOWEVER.
I watched one such show yesterday, where a couple wanted to retire to a quaint cottage in Mississippi. They specifically wanted to restore an old home and fill it with new love. Sweet. They chose a two-bedroom, one-bath with a cramped kitchen and funky plastic shingles on the gables. The crew went to work. First, down come walls, making the kitchen a useful size with floor-to-ceiling cabinets. A tiny alcove was transformed into an itty-bitty craft room. And—the big change—the second bedroom became a luxurious bathroom. The couple was delighted. And then I realized they were downsizing from a FIVE-BEDROOM home. Into a charming one-bed/one-bath cottage.
Sure.
We are in the process of downsizing from a home with space for three children, a series of greyhounds, and nearly 19 years of everything real life offers. Swim team, marching band, choir, church trips, friendships/frenemyships, arguments over money, the trauma of long-term illness, Drum Corps sleepovers with massive breakfasts (and the requisite autographing of basement ceiling tiles), a host of gatherings, an annual forest of Christmas trees: these were the days of our lives. But the kids are grown, and the grandchildren are coming along (note: grandparenting is the best gig ever). Recently our middle daughter offered to buy her childhood home so she could raise her own babies there. And the downsizing began.
Purge one: school projects, kid memorabilia, stuff we’d moved 19 years ago and never used, our own childhood stuff. If it was sentimental, I took pictures before tossing it. Nothing was valuable, not even my collection of Teen Magazine from the mid-1970s. There were a few things I kept, mostly because I knew my mother would ask and she would kill me if I let them go. We filled a dumpster.
Purge two: broken furniture, old bedding not even salvageable for dogs, toys with no life left in them, games with missing pieces, clothing no one wanted, everything that couldn’t be donated, paint, and yard decor. In between the two purges, I gave away 25 years’ worth of craft supplies to three dear friends. I gave away books. I sold Disney souvenir pins, branded clothing, and a few other things. My husband had great luck on an online marketplace selling a 30-year-old Kirby vacuum, several furniture pieces, old shop and woodworking equipment, and even a bag of hangers. He has a way with sales.
More books had to go. Years of teaching and reading and researching and studying meant I had a LOT of books. I culled at least a third of them. Some I donated and some I traded to Half-Price Books for $16 whole dollars. Ten cents a pound, no matter what the title, condition, or market value of the book. What a racket.
Moving day came. Reality check.
I cannot begin to imagine what the couple on the HGTV show went through as they pared down to what would fit in their small place. Our new-to-us house, a flip of a 1970s ranch style with a basement was a little more than half the square footage of the home we left. The open concept, however, meant very few walls on the main level. And the 1976 build date meant small closets and not much storage.
Like the couple on the show, I claimed the guest room for what I’m calling my “bougie closet,” complete with chandelier. It was finished a week after our move-in date, so it’s not loaded in yet, but it makes my wanna-be designer heart happy. Unlike HGTV, this house wasn’t beautifully staged with all the perfect little touches that make people gasp when they open the front door—-even knowing they don’t get to keep the rented furniture. We are still opening boxes, three weeks after moving in and realizing that there’s still no room for the stuff we kept, thinking we had curated wisely.
I return to my new closet and breathe a little, knowing that this move will be a blip in our lives and beautiful things are to come!
I’ve donated more boxes of clothes and things I thought I needed. We have a table full of items for a garage sale this weekend. I have an appointment at a consignment store tomorrow. (I don’t have great hopes for that since nothing from the first batch sold.) With every box I ask, “Do I need this, do I want this, and can I live without it?” I’ve created storage areas with bins and shelves in every corner I can manage. My office is nearly complete, but even with giving away most of the craft materials, the “artsy” side of the room is full. Organized and cute, but full. And speaking of artsy, the ART I have, most of which I created, has no place to hang. What do I do with that?
Reality: It’s going to take a lot longer than I expected to unpack and settle in here. I think we will be dealing with boxes until June. Once all is said and done, it will be a good place for us. I hope the HGTV couple survives their own downsizing and finding spaces for the things they love most.