If These Walls Could Talk.

Everybody knows the old saying, “A home is a man’s castle”. Our homes bring us sanctuary, peace, comfort. Unfortunately, many have felt the opposite at times within their domicile. At times, it can feel like a prison. I think it’s safe to say, during quarantine, many of us truly felt that our homes were confining walls and claustrophobic prisons. The same sights, day in and day out, aggravating holed up minds and bodies.

Though, I am no stranger to the love hate relationship I can have with my 94 year old home, nothing brings me the array of emotions more than a home renovation. I love the rollercoaster. It’s ups and downs, twists and turns, much like a relationship with a lover. In the beginning, it is exciting, the anticipation of new experiences and hope for the future. Then, things settle, much like the foundations of a home. You grow accustomed to the creaks and cracks. Perhaps, things don’t receive enough attention like they should. This is exactly why, much like love, your home needs some good ol’ TLC, to keep it from falling down around you. Leaving you in a mess of debris and shattered dreams.

My husband and I have really put our patience and relationship through the wringer with home projects. I always joke, “I’m the brains and he’s the brawn”. I go into an idea with doe eyed enthusiasm , while he’s looking like a deer in the headlights. Yet, somehow, despite set backs and blips, we really have come a long, long, long way with our home. Though, I know he’d really love it, if I could tone my creative itch down. Way down.

I just can’t help it. My mind races with ideas and plans, far faster than his hands can carry them. But boy, does he carry them. Now, it’s not all on him. I do my fair share where I can with the knowledge or know how, but he was raised in a home where DIY was common place and managed to skillfully learn building and home repair from his father. Something, I’m quite envious of, as I didn’t have that growing up.

My husband grew up in that typical, sought after American dream family. Happily married parents, close sibling bonds and lived in the same house his entire life. I had a wildly different experience. The oldest of a single mother, my father out of the picture my whole life and I can’t count the number of houses I’ve lived in through my years. It’s been so many. I have a few of the better times seared into my memories but a few of the worst memories cruelly branded into my mind as well. Homes that were not filled with love and tenderness, but of pain, trauma, and fear.

So, I vowed, when I could, I would make my house a home for my children. It’s been a goal for years and I can say that even though it is still a work in progress, we are finally there. Each room carefully planned, maintained and decorated, to hopefully leave an image on my children’s minds, that “We were happy there. That house was filled with love”.

With each project I go through four stages. Without fail. The excitement of planning and prepping, then when we are down to bare bones and in the thick of it, I get nervous. This aching pit in my stomach and my brain screaming, “You’ve done it now Sam, you’ve really done it now. Why can’t you just learn to knit?” This stage is where my anxiety is through the roof but I know it will not simmer because by stage three, I’m now lingering on the, “Oh this isn’t going to end is it?”

Time seems to move at a glacial pace, the painting, the trim work, whatever we are on just takes time. So much time. For someone who has zero patience and gets ansy easily, this is probably the worst stage. However, stage four finally comes. Like a bright shining light! The end of the tunnel! It’s finished and now I can add finishing touches and make it feel cozy and warm. The bathroom, the kitchen, the deck, the possibilities were endless but when it was actually done, I would just stand and stare. Impressed at my husband, impressed at my own ideas, and impressed we were actually able to make this house our home.

It may be studs and drywall, or in some cases lathe, and old German newspapers, but it is so much more than that. It’s making a place that my kids feel safe, that my husband can come home to and melt his stresses from work away. A place I can feel comfortable in and proud of. I like to think the house has a life, many people have lived in these rooms. Fights have taken place between lovers, cries have been uttered from new born babes. Laughter, hopefully among the most sung songs against these walls through the 94 years of it’s existence.

We’ve been here 6 years this fall. We have hopes of building a house one day. With careful planning and saving , I hope like hell it will be more than a dream. Another project to get us to our forever home. There I go again, another project in the making. I can’t help myself . Though, in the meantime, this home, this is my castle. Each project like a battle on its grounds. Suffice it to say, we’ve won them. We’ve put in love and work, and thankfully, I’ve done it with the best partner one could ask for. So, I’ll continue to work on it. If these walls could talk, I’d hope they say we did it justice and made it a warm and inviting place, so the next generations who will fill them with their own stories, feel that love as well. Until they too, add their own touches.