The House Reality Built

Everyone who likes cleaning your house – put your hand up. Wow – no hands? Can’t say I blame you. Do you know what kind of jobs people like doing? Ones that have clear-cut rewards. Cleaning my house is never like that. I live in one of those revolving door houses where you clean, turn your back for two seconds, turn around and it’s dirty again. So frustrating.

You know, I can’t even imagine why anyone would want a bigger house or a fancier one than the one already owned. Doesn’t that just mean that you have to clean more? Like if you had the pleasure of having a pool in your yard. Would taking care of it eventually become so much of a hassle that you wish you didn’t have one? That’s my fear for having a dog. You can’t just drain the dog and board it up when you’re tired of taking care of it. Well, maybe you could, but the Humane Society would be all over you.

Anyway, I have never had a dog or a pool, because the idea of maintaining something over time doesn’t interest me. It took my husband almost ten years to convince me to get a cell phone because I didn’t want to pay the monthly fee. I only agreed to it when the fee got lower than buying hamburgers for my kids. Even my roses – though they do need maintenance, need it less than half the year. My kind of bargain.

Back to the topic of me and my house. Sometimes I feel this crushing social weight to move into newer/flashier digs. Why? I think it’s because of the little tagline the realtor put on my house – Starter Home. It was only a starter home because I’d never bought one before, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t find the perfect home for me the first time out. My house is awesome. Sure, the laundry room is still in the basement (how archaic), and someone planted a city street light (that actually works) in the backyard for no earthly reason, and the neighbour’s wild rose bush is so tenacious it’s creeping up through slabs of the cement in the backyard. Seriously, thistles could learn a thing or two from that monster, but no matter – my house is awesome.

When are we going to give up wanting more in a culture that desperately NEEDS us to want more? Can’t we throw up our hands and say, “No more, Corporate America! From now on I’m going to live in the woods and eat shrooms!” Okay, I can’t actually do that, though I do know people who can.

I just want to say – my house is old – my feet aren’t cold - I don’t want a bird cause I’d have to feed it gold. As long as my fence holds my house will never be sold. Or something like that.