How to Make Your House a Haven Without Changing a Thing
Hung up on 'perfect' aesthetics? You may be missing out on what gives a home real meaning
I've already told you about the fixer-upper my husband, Paul, and I bought almost a decade ago. Within a few months of taking possession, we gutted and replaced the kitchen, knocked down a wall between it and the living room, painted half the house and tore out an acre of carpet. And this was stage one.
When it was complete, Paul suggested we invite the former homeowner, an older woman, to come over and check it all out.
"Why?" I asked, surprised.
“You know, so she can see all the work we’ve done,” he said.
“Let me get this straight: You want to have her over so she can see we couldn't wait to remove every trace of her presence from this place?"
"Not when you put it like that!”
When it was complete, Paul suggested we invite the former homeowner, an older woman, to come over and check it all out.
"Why?" I asked, surprised.
“You know, so she can see all the work we’ve done,” he said.
“Let me get this straight: You want to have her over so she can see we couldn't wait to remove every trace of her presence from this place?"
"Not when you put it like that!”
A 6-foot fence blocked the view of our beautiful yard and gardens and gave the feeling of living in a stockade. We cut it down to 4 feet — maintaining safety and opening the view — but you'll notice it didn't keep out the fun.
That was the sort of house I grew up in, a sprawling ranch set in a clearing in the woods with tons of space and a huge inground pool. Every family event was at our house. Every Christmas my aunts and uncles and cousins packed the place for days on end. We slept 20 guests without batting an eye. In the summer we hosted both sides of our large families and many, many friends.
When Paul and I were shopping for our first home, I was on the lookout for a living room that could accommodate 30, never mind that our little family was only the two of us and baby Christopher, who was then the size of a large garden gnome.
We bought a three-bedroom ranch that matched our budget and our actual life. Eight years later I was delighted to find this diamond in the rough, within our price range, with so many features I had thought we wouldn't be able to afford for years. To be honest, I minimized the work and the cost entailed in sprucing it up, but I was right on about the fun.
We threw our first party within 48 hours of moving in. We moved on a Saturday. Our first guests, a family of five, arrived early the next morning, and we hosted our first party the day after that, which was Labor Day. And we continued in that vein until the day the house burned down.
That was the sort of house I grew up in, a sprawling ranch set in a clearing in the woods with tons of space and a huge inground pool. Every family event was at our house. Every Christmas my aunts and uncles and cousins packed the place for days on end. We slept 20 guests without batting an eye. In the summer we hosted both sides of our large families and many, many friends.
When Paul and I were shopping for our first home, I was on the lookout for a living room that could accommodate 30, never mind that our little family was only the two of us and baby Christopher, who was then the size of a large garden gnome.
We bought a three-bedroom ranch that matched our budget and our actual life. Eight years later I was delighted to find this diamond in the rough, within our price range, with so many features I had thought we wouldn't be able to afford for years. To be honest, I minimized the work and the cost entailed in sprucing it up, but I was right on about the fun.
We threw our first party within 48 hours of moving in. We moved on a Saturday. Our first guests, a family of five, arrived early the next morning, and we hosted our first party the day after that, which was Labor Day. And we continued in that vein until the day the house burned down.
The morning of the fire, one of the sons of the former homeowner posted the news on Facebook, and an all-day discussion ensued. A mutual friend later told me that friends from all over reminisced about the good times they had had in that house, which up until the last few years had been, to my eyes, the ugliest duckling.
For the previous homeowners, it had been a swan; they had chosen every feature that I later assiduously removed or covered up. Taste is subjective, isn't it?
The day our house burned, during that virtual walk down memory lane, no one asked about the wall of volcanic rock. Nobody mentioned the low ceilings with the faux beams, the lack of windows, the endless carpet and the fake brick. Of course that wouldn't have been polite, but I'm sure it didn't even occur to anyone, if they even ever noticed. I bet most of the people who were welcomed there over the years were focused on being with friends and having fun.
My dad had a saying to describe what mattered and what didn't. "It'll burn" he'd say to dismiss something that wasn't worth stressing about. I fretted and clucked over all the ugly finishes in my home for so many of the years we lived there and spent thousands and thousands of dollars making it as beautiful as I dreamed it could be, and in less than an hour it was consumed by fire. What survived was destroyed by water and smoke.
For the previous homeowners, it had been a swan; they had chosen every feature that I later assiduously removed or covered up. Taste is subjective, isn't it?
The day our house burned, during that virtual walk down memory lane, no one asked about the wall of volcanic rock. Nobody mentioned the low ceilings with the faux beams, the lack of windows, the endless carpet and the fake brick. Of course that wouldn't have been polite, but I'm sure it didn't even occur to anyone, if they even ever noticed. I bet most of the people who were welcomed there over the years were focused on being with friends and having fun.
My dad had a saying to describe what mattered and what didn't. "It'll burn" he'd say to dismiss something that wasn't worth stressing about. I fretted and clucked over all the ugly finishes in my home for so many of the years we lived there and spent thousands and thousands of dollars making it as beautiful as I dreamed it could be, and in less than an hour it was consumed by fire. What survived was destroyed by water and smoke.
I wish I had spent less time worrying about what my house looked like and more of it purely enjoying my family and all the people we welcomed there. I did get that right, just like the former homeowners did, just as my parents showed me, and despite my concerns, I did fling open our doors and allow my home to be a haven.
It's so easy to get hung up on how we want our house to look. It's tempting to think we can't have anyone over until it looks just so, but I'm here to tell you, whatever it looks like — your nightmare or your dream — it could all be gone in a flash. But if we open ourselves, the memories we make can outlast us.
More: 9 Ways to Appreciate Your House Just as It Is
It's so easy to get hung up on how we want our house to look. It's tempting to think we can't have anyone over until it looks just so, but I'm here to tell you, whatever it looks like — your nightmare or your dream — it could all be gone in a flash. But if we open ourselves, the memories we make can outlast us.
More: 9 Ways to Appreciate Your House Just as It Is
The former homeowner and her husband had bought the house in the early '70s, when their three boys were young. They lived there for almost 30 years, until her husband died unexpectedly. The sons were all grown up, and she found maintaining everything too much to handle on her own.
She was so glad another young family would be moving in and happy to tell us a little bit about their time there; how soon after buying the place they installed an inground pool, and the day it opened her youngest boy, who was 3 at the time, jumped in and swam the length, without hesitation. She didn't even know he could swim! Her boys also loved the big yards and the wooded hills; they had so much room to roam around and play.
The house was originally one-story tall, but they added a second and made it one huge playroom (15 by 60 feet) with pinball machines, pool and Ping-Pong tables, air hockey and foosball — kids' paradise.
(Aesthetically it was a nightmare: acres of blue plush carpet, miles of popcorn-textured ceiling and wood paneling, not to mention the wall of volcanic rock that lined the stairwell that they installedover the carpet on the stairs. Demoing that — tearing out fields of blue plush, painting the paneling and sanding the ceiling — was on my list of things to do.)
It's no surprise that the house was constantly overflowing with friends and family. Every summer they hosted their family reunion, which was nicknamed "Family Rebellion." They welcomed huge groups from church, and the place was always open to the boys' friends.
In the six years we lived there, I can't tell you how many times total strangers would come to our house: service people, parents of our children's friends, the UPS guy(!) and announce, "Hey, I swam in your pool!"