ADVENTURES IN HOME OWNERSHIP
Part One
I suppose my adventures in home ownership truly began back in May of this year, 2013, but that’s another story. This is all about living in my home, the very first week.
I signed the papers and became a proud and thankful home owner on September 11, somewhere between four and five in the afternoon. And that was the last time I saw my home until I moved in on September 28. That first night, my realtors and I went back to the condo, because of course, I just had to go there. It was mine! It was mine! And I’d waited one hell of a long time for it. I’d wanted to own my own place since I first moved out of my dad’s home, when I was eighteen. I’m now, well, somewhat older than that. Fifty-five, to be exact. Years of renting, of worrying about damage to the apartments, of wishing I could have colors for walls and carpet other than apartment complex white or beige, of knowing my dogs left messes or indestructible amounts of hair, of wondering how high the rent would go next year. Finally, at long last, it wasn’t a worry anymore.
So, Tom and Beth and I, along with my dog Olga, came to the condo after closing. We drank wine and ate cheese and crackers. We talked about where furniture would go, and we discussed paint colors and accent walls. It was a feeling no words of mine can ever describe.
But the condo needed some work. Though the owner claimed she didn’t smoke, it had a reek of stale cigarette smoke, something like the days of staying in cheap motels that didn’t worry about non smoking rooms, and that horrid closed in cigarette smoke that enveloped and saturated everything. The water heater needed to be replaced. Getting rid of the smoke smell meant new paint and new carpet. The yard needed some fixing up of the fence so the dogs couldn’t get out. The Hegel family worked hours upon hours cleaning and painting. Carpet was installed the day before I moved in. After counting hours and days and just about counting minutes and seconds, the day came for me to move in.
I stayed at my friends’ home the night before, and while I slept restlessly, they were at the condo, putting outlet covers back, making sure the paint job was perfect, getting it ready for me.
Gathering at the old apartment, the Hegel family, accompanied by some neighborhood boys, the moving party commenced. Joylene and I finished sealing boxes, and then we headed over to the new place, at last. It was the first time for me getting the full effect of the changes. Slipping off my shoes, I reveled in the feel of the new carpet under my bare feet. I’d never had some thick cushy carpet. The stale cigarette smell was completely erased, as if it had never been there. Walking from room to room, I brushed my hands lightly over walls and counters, bent to touch the carpet, stroked the blinds and drapes. I opened drawers and closets and marveled that this was all mine.
Then we left. We took the dogs to get bathed, did other errands and took the moving gang out to lunch. I stopped to buy some wine in order to celebrate later. We moved in the new furniture, moved in the old furniture and didn’t unpack a single box! That night, when everyone was gone, I sat in my living room, soaking in the scents and sounds, the ambiance of my home. When I went to bed I felt contentment like nothing I’d experienced before.
But, alas, the next morning, I realized, my coffee maker was set up, but I didn’t know where the coffee was! We’d left things at the apartment, food mostly, things that would be brought over that day, but was the coffee there. Oh, oh, oh, no coffee to start my day. I drank Pepsi instead and waited patiently, because Joylene was coming with coffee and breakfast, and we would be unpacking. All day long.
And now the fun begins. If you consider a series of crazy catastrophes as an auspicious beginning, then the first week of actually living in my home has to be the luckiest week ever.
Oh Monday, I was sitting happily on my rocking chair, drinking coffee. I got up to do something, and when I came back and reached for my coffee cup, I knocked it over and the coffee spilled right on my pretty new carpet and all over my keyboard. Now, I’m not one who spills things much, cautious and careful, always knowing where my things are. I knew that cup was there, but somehow, over it went! “Oh dear,” said I. Hmmm, I must confess I actually said things a bit stronger than that. Rushing to the kitchen, I grabbed paper towels, wiped up the coffee, set damp cloths over the spot and scrubbed. Fortunately, the carpet doesn’t show coffee stains, but still, that was my first carpet accident, and it was all me! And the keyboard, it was toast!
Another day that week, Bianca, my twelve-year-old black lab retired guide dog, somehow managed to steal some ibuprofen out of a friend’s purse. Um yeah, let the carpet accidents begin! She threw up in every room in the place, except my bedroom and office and the guest bathroom. She went to the vet for the day, came home and proceeded to throw up even more! That landed her at the vet’s for two days, so she could get fluids and be observed, as ibuprofen overdoses can be extremely serious for dogs. I was worried, of course, but for those who have heard Bianca stories over the years, this is something that happens with her, and since she hadn’t done something so spectacularly dangerous in a number of years, I guess it was about time. I shrugged my shoulders over the carpet stains and thanked God my rascal dog had survived, again.
But this wasn’t the end of the catastrophes! Oh no, indeed not. Not quite.
On Friday night, I was relaxing with a glass of wine. Yay for the weekend, a whole two days to bask in the joy of my home. Deciding to wash a few dishes, including a wine glass from earlier in the week, I headed to the kitchen. Placing my glass on the counter, well away from my arms, I began to work at the sink. As I was washing a wine glass, it fell over, in the sink, and CRASH! It shattered into many lovely crystal pieces.
“No!”
Sadly, I went about finding all the pieces. With plastic bags over my hand, I fished around in the sink and down the garbage disposal, hoping I’d found all the glass shards. It’s just a wine glass, I told myself repeatedly, just a wine glass.
At last, when I was sure it was safe, the glass all thrown away, I decided to go back to the living room. I was christening my first Friday night in my home with a few episodes of the west wing, the greatest show ever to appear on television. Reaching for my glass of wine—remember the glass of wine I’d placed safely on the counter out of the way? Well, I found it all right. CRASH! Over it went. And the glass shattered, and the wine spread everywhere, drenching the counter and stove in glorious red wine. And shards of glass.
I shrieked.
I screeched.
I wailed.
I sobbed.
I most definitely swore.
Burying my face in my hands for a moment, I stood there wondering what to do next! It was late, and I couldn’t call for help from anyone.
What do you do when you don’t know what the heck to do? You do what comes next. And what came next was cleaning up wine and glass. Mostly glass, because the dogs and I could get some serious cuts.
Scrounging for more plastic bags, I covered my hands and began to feel around the counter and floor, picking up all the glass I could find. I hunted up extra towels, trying to sop up all the wine. There was an amazing puddle. Wine really spreads when it spills! Ah well, at least it wasn’t the carpet! Leaving the towels to soak up the wine, I laid a towel on the floor in the general area of the incident, just in case any glass had fallen on the floor, to protect the bare feet of me and the dogs. Sighing, I went back to finish the west wing episodes, calling myself a few choice names and wondering why I, who is cautious and careful and who just doesn’t spill things, had managed to break two wine glasses in one night!
The next day, Dan came with a carpet cleaner and now you’d never know a dog had thrown up all over the brand new carpet. The wine and glass were pretty much cleared up, and he helped find the few tiny pieces I’d missed, fortunately, all on the counter, none on the floor. Unpacking continued. The place was really beginning to feel like home at last.
And since then, that last horrible Friday night with the wine glasses? Nothing, nada, rien, no problems. No spilled coffee, no dog being sick, no broken wine glasses. Of course, there’s no wine either, but details, details! It’s like all that weird craziness of the first week never happened at all, and life is normal.
And every night, as I prepare for bed, I walk around my condo, touching walls, stroking furniture, feeling the carpet under my feet. A warmth of joy and gratitude comes over me, sometimes tears spring to my eyes, as I think that after all these years, this particular dream has come true. I have a home, my own home, a beautiful, comfortable, welcoming home. A place I am proud to show off, a place where I want to welcome guests, a place where I sleep in peace, a place a home, a dream. And it’s mine. And I’m thankful.