Things apparently went well this week. Kat and I are homeowners. Well, that’s what people like to call it. In truth, we will join the millions of Americans who willingly go in debt to own a piece of dirt topped off with some sticks.
It’s been that way since the beginning, I guess. I’m sure at some point an enterprising cave man or woman noticed that people were living in caves for free around town and decided they should be bought and sold instead. The dawn of real estate.
It’s not that renting has been bad. The old house was lovely, about 10 years old, well cared for and homey. But it was never really home. It can’t be because paying rent doesn’t allow you to rip out the beds in the yard or kick out a wall in the house. For some reason, landlords frown on those types of things.
I confess that I have grown quite fond of renting over the years. It has alwasy been easy to look around the yard and the house and think, wow, wouldn’t it be great if the alcove above the fireplace could be enlarged to hold new flatscreen TVs instead of being a deep well of darkness conceived for a set with a picture tube? Or wouldn’t it be nice to have a hot tub out back?
It’s all mental masturbation when you rent, and I’ve been pretty good at it, so much so that I think I should have medaled.
But now that we are in a house, I know that these days are numbered. Kat already has a long “honey-do” list, thanks in large part to Pinterest. There are plants to plant, walls to paint, a creek to tame, trees to prune. In the past three weeks I have been dazzled by a flurry of unfamiliar products and vegetation. I remember laughing when she said we should get some clematis when we move in. “I’m not really sure why we would need a sexually transmitted disease, honey,” I said.
As you can imagine, I have a lot to learn. But such is the way things are when you’re a fixer upper, and I’m not talking about the house.
As we look at this new addition in our life, I am continually reminded that I am the fixer upper, not just the house. As I’ve noted in the past, I’ve always been a bit of a passenger in this house-buying carnival ride in life. “Fine with me” was my pat response to anything that had to do with a house, largely because I wasn’t engaged in the whole house buying hype all my friends seemed to be obsessed with.
Owning a house? I could take it or leave it. If I had really wanted to, I could have bought a house when I got back to Seattle, but the thought of a rental, well, it left all my options open, if you get my drift. It would be a snap to scale down to an apartment in a moment’s notice; the rental arrangement being terribly flexible in this regard.
But now? Well, it seems that the times they are a-changin’. It’s all Kat’s fault, of course, But how can I not get excited about giving Kat something she’s always dreamed of having – a real home.
Excited seems to be an understatement. How do I know? I can tell by the hourly Pinterest pins that flood my mailbox. Ideas for the yard, for the cavernous master (which really deserves its own zip code), the shuffleboard court (well, the long hallway that looks like one), and the living room. I could go on.
Some of these will undoubtedly require my participation. She hasn’t openly come out and said so. But I know she can’t do it all.
So, I am becoming a fixer upper. I have always been a rip-and-tear previously. Taking things apart – both in a remodeling and relationship mode – seems to have been my specialty. I was good at rip-and-tear.
But, now I am a fixer upper. I can’t help it. Kat makes me want to be better than I was, to be more into this relationship than any in my dark, distant past, and to throw myself headlong into this new venture we created together.
Yes, I owned a home or two in the past, back when I was in the rip-and-tear mode. A really bad idea, by the way. I don’t recommend being in that mindset when you buy a home. It never turns out well.
Now that I’m a fixer upper, I’m entering a different world. I already warned Kat that I am more of the festive decor kind of guy; the real remodeling stuff has never been my strong suit. Sure, I can haul some dirt (well, my son can) and I can get up on the ladder and do some trim work (well, my son probably can); but the heavy stuff? We’ll just have to wait and see.
As for my own remodeling, I can safely say that I am looking forward to that. I’ve been in desperate need for that all my life and Kat seems to be the one who has the unique skills and qualities to do the remodeling and install the upgrades. Her gentle nudges are that of a feather versus the sledgehammers that have been used unsuccessfully in the past.
And speaking of hammers, Kat came into this relationship with her own hammer. Pink, true. But a hammer nonetheless. How can you not admire a woman who knows how to use tools?
I just hope she will teach me how to use them. I know she has the patience of a saint; I only hope she has the will and the way to teach me how to do all the stuff on my ever lengthening honey-do list.
For my part, I will try to be a good student. I admit to a lot of trepidation as I take ownership of the first house I’ve ever cared to own. But I’m going to give it the old college try and work side-by-side with Kat to turn this house, Casa Verde, into our first, and more than likely, only home we will ever own.
In the Emerald City, still worrying about getting a case of clematis,
– Robb