June 21, 2010
If Walls Could Talk
I love treasure hunts. That's one of the reasons why I start to sweat profusely whenever I see a Marshalls or T.J. Maxx.
In a former life, our house was Santa's Village. When we moved in five years ago, all of the carpet was red. Every other surface was covered with forest green wallpaper.
My husband and I renovated our house entirely by ourselves (it was as fun as it sounds) and every time we embarked on a project, I always held my breath in hopes that behind a wall or underneath three layers of hideous bathroom tile we would find a stash of reindeer antlers or a petrified elf.
For the record, all we ever found were mouse droppings and dry rot.
We don't want the future owners of this home (yep--we sold the house again and this one is a keeper!) to experience the same disappointment of deflated expectations that we have been forced to endure over the years; that's why we have left them special hidden gifts.
On the pine plank sub floor of our family room, I wrote a letter to Santa in black magic marker. Chip off the bead board paneling in the master bathroom and you'll find hieroglyphs depicting us winning the lottery and hiring someone else to rewire the overhead fan. My husband and I were not in the best of moods when we remodeled the kids' bathroom. Our sentiments toward the project and our feelings towards tile saws in particular are etched into the drywall behind the toilet and vanity.
In about a hundred years, I expect our home to make a very good episode of If Walls Could Talk.
When the moment is right and our walls speak up, I have a sick feeling that they're going to tell the world that their previous owners were a teensy bit disturbed.