Possibilities posted 10/27/2009 9:52:35 PM | 10 kudos what's this?     report abuse

ColdinWisconsin

I've got a huge kitchen. It's pretty much the reason I bought this house. I did an utterly feminine thing. I walked through the front door, saw that the kitchen went clear from one end of the house to the other and was filled with possibilities and mentally, physically and emotionally came to the conclusion that I would offer them their full asking price.

It had red brick linoleum. Not laminate flooring mind you. It had mother f***ing linoleum. Dark red brick in a kind of funky swirly pattern that I'm assuming was meant to please both the drug addicts of the early 60's and the Suzie homemakers of the late 50's. Out here in the sticks it's a fairly common pattern, but I've had city folk come and gawp in awe.

They seemed to waver between the thought that I had so little pride as to allow that to remain on my floor and back to the thought process that it would be "back-in" again some day and if I just waited until then...I would be the coolest chick on our 8 mile block. I waited 10 years folks. She's not coming back in.

I allowed my child to roller skate in my kitchen. Heck, It's 20X35 from one end and narrows down to 15X35, the kid had room to wipe out.

Wipe out she did. Numerous times. Bumps, bruises, and once, full blown screams with a blood colored back ground. It's the stuff childhood is made of.

She was allowed to squoosh out her play dough right on the floor. Leave it there to dry for dad to take home that weekend. She was allowed to paint on it, nap on it, vomit on it and on one memorable occasion, knock herself right out by running across it in her socks an hour after I waxed it.

It hid the dirt well folks. Honest to God, you washed that floor once a week and you would be totally shocked at what was in that bucket. My daughter maintained that we were still scrubbing off the layers of dirt from the previous owners.

When I bought the house the kitchen had brown walls, (one wall was paneled) the dark red brick linoleum, red brick back splash (do I need to tell you how difficult RED BRICK is to get grease off of?) dark brown cabinets and just to brighten things up a little, olive counter tops. My sister walked in and said "Holy f***" and bent over laughing. I however was in love.

My sister gently reminded me of my last 4 houses and while my ability for being able to see the finished product years in advance could be seen as a gift, it was also my worst trait. I had turned dozens of houses down as in some cases, no matter what I did I could not see how I could make it my home. Ever. But sometimes it's the scrappiest, crappiest houses that have the most potential.

I think I do that with relationships too. Put a good guy in front of me and maybe I can't see how he can morph and grow over time. I can't visualized how I could possibly fit and live in that picture. But slide a train wreck in front of me and my mind has got all sorts of places it can go with that.

Stop and think about that for a second.

You take a guy who's kind of wandering aimlessly and you can easily picture him parked somewhere. Anywhere. Nubbly sofa with a beer while balancing a pizza, at a company Christmas party, pushing the cart at Wal-Mart, or buying khaki's at The Gap.

But you take a guy who's parked already at a kitchen table (white Formica with gold flecks in it) newspaper unfolded to the obituaries while sipping decaf Folger's and I've got a damn good idea of what the next 30 years are like.

Seriously. That's how my mind works. I know. I feel sorry for me too.

Granted, I tend to be an optimist so I'm always thinking of the good things that could happen with the wanderer.. Optimism and reality tend to clash on a fairly regular basis I've found. Men are what they are. Women too I suppose. My gifts lie with the inanimate I believe. It's walls. 4 of them, uneven with slanted floors where my true vision lives. It's why I write. The ability to see beauty or even the possibility of it in barren situations.

I look at homes in my spare time. I have no money to buy one here or there and spend my free time (what free time?) on weekends tinkering and fixing them up. Some women shop. Others envy their neighbors. I however hit every open house I see. I see the newly and hastily applied spray texture and painted oak cabinets and shake my head at the people in such a hurry that they were unable to see the beauty. The possibility of what things could be. Surface pretty. Who said that? Mick Jagger? "She ain't pretty, she just looks that way." Oh well, somebody said it in a song and I think of that every time I see a older home with hope and someones weekend trip to Home Depot to cover up it's personality.

So yeah, I saw this home and I saw possibilities. Saw the two of us and our things dwelling here for a while. It's how a home gets sold I believe. People have to be able to envision you gone and themselves in there. That's what this home was. Possibilities. But I sure the merry hell don't miss that red brick linoleum baby.

Copy & paste to friend: (Click inside box; Ctrl + C to copy; Ctrl + V to paste)

Blogs by ColdinWisconsin: Light and Dark Love Possibilities Stretch of the Imagination Rubbin' Two sticks Together Drudgery Bang for Your Buck Sword thrust towards the Heavens Letter to Thomas Brown Salt Second Chance The Way we Were Chuck, Chuck Bo Buck Banana Fanna Fo Fu..... In Hoc Signo Vinces Their World Not Unique at All Just as I am There. It needed to be said. Trippin' In the Out Box GodLike Vegan ZUMBA!!! Keeper of the Past Dancing with the Devil