While walls can’t talk, there are stories to be found everywhere, including the second bedroom and the attic – especially the attic.
When I am invited into a home, whether as a listing agent or with a potential buyer, a stunning kaleidoscope of narratives unfold that are rarely revealed in the property descriptions used as marketing tools or in the numbers thrown about in the media.
Our living spaces are songs of ourselves. The American Dream - desired, realized, or crushed - is writ large and small within our walls and in our neighborhoods. I walk into houses and discover homes.
Standing in the kitchen of a charming red brick ranch, I spy a partially open knapsack in the corner filled to the brim with school books and a middle school history textbook trying to make a getaway. I can sense the endless complaints about how much homework there is and how Mr. Peters gave the hardest history test in history as the family gathers for supper at the circular glass table. No doubt there is ice cream for dessert now and again as raspberry ice cream bowls peek out of a glass cabinet, practically shouting “fill me, fill me.”
A glance at the refrigerator reveals a friend’s birthday is just days away and the shopping list hanging askew next to it mentions the need to pick up a birthday card, a gallon of chocolate milk and some toilet paper.
As soon as I open the front door to a stunning Center-Hall Colonial, I discover a homeowner’s passion for collecting beautiful antiques from the Far East. Vases in various shades of green are thoughtfully displayed on a demilune console and flatteringly lit by an overhead spotlight.
In a lovely end-unit townhouse, the living room mantel boasts of the family’s pride in Dad’s military service. The strapping soldier in the wood frame stands by a tank and smiles at his family in a reassuring way that seems to say “Don’t worry; I am okay.”
Entering a modern condo’s second bedroom, painted the boldest of blues, I see a series of shiny trophies proudly displayed on a bedroom dresser, pointing to a youngster’s success in the community soccer league. Looking around the room, I guess that there might be a soccer ball hidden beneath the neatly made bed.
When I open the sliding door to the backyard of an historic home in need of some TLC, I notice a tall Oak tree quietly watching over the final resting place of a beloved pet. Nearby, there is a hammock that speaks to down time, with a book casually left open – indicating someone was enjoying The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society.
I feel like I am on sacred ground when I visit these spaces where I am privileged to glimpse the lives the residents have shared, as the cliché describes, “for better and for worse, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer” - where milestones have been celebrated and where hopes for success have been realized or dashed.
Much is lost in our rush to synthesize the current housing situation into local statistics. Each and every home sale is and has always been about more than an agreed upon price. A baby is on its way and more room is needed, a last child goes off to college and the house is suddenly too big, a job offer requires a move to a new town, a loved one passes away and the space is intolerably lonely, a divorce scatters the occupants in different directions. Suddenly, the loss of work and investments create havoc in lives lived sensibly and responsibly. A bubble bursts. A recession slowly recedes.
In America, “Home Sweet Home,” is more than a nice ditty embroidered on a pillow tossed casually on the sofa. It is part of our national DNA and the stuff of dreams. If emotions sometimes run wild as homes are bought and sold, lost and found, it is because this heady vision is at stake.
Copyright 2009
It would be a real pleasure to help you find a home or with any other real estate needs, whenever you are ready.
