Every now and then, Todd and I will just hold each other and wonder what we’ve done. The projects stretch out before us, seemingly without end. We’ll chat about it all, regroup and decide on tonight’s job.
But the other night we stayed a little longer and I asked what his major issue with the house and farm was. I was super surprised to hear that to him its biggest challenge is how ugly the outside of it is. He’s a no-nonsense kind of guy and certainly not into appearances. But I couldn’t argue with him; he’s absolutely right. It’s a rusty burnt orange from 1984 with once-blackish (now warped-faded-to-gray) plastic shutters that look like they belong on a haunted house. The windows are cracked and don’t all open, a screen in back still flaps in the breeze. The oak front door is embellished in what I’m sure was all the rage back then, floral stained glass, and its handle flies off whenever someone closes it abruptly. The shrubbery is simultaneously overgrown and lacking. Of the six exterior doors, it’s hard to know the main entrance is in the back. It has no style except weird diagonal-planked siding, I get where he’s coming from.
But when he lobbed the question back at me, I laughed and told him honestly the last thing in the world I care about is how it looks on the outside. If he really wanted to know, what bothers me is the structural issues we keep running into. The expensive but necessary fixes that don’t change its look one bit.
As I thought about our funny conversation, I obviously drew a parallel to our personal lives. The older we get, the more structural issues we’ve been running into ourselves, frozen shoulder, sore elbows, acid reflux, wrist cyst, weak knees, tight chest muscles, plantar fasciitis… our 40s have been looking pretty rough. However, like our house, we deal with urgent matters if we can and put the others on hold for another season.
But I see our outsides as I do our house. I say we keep the walkway swept, we tidy up, we plant flowers and trees, we continue to take loads to the dump, we make do with what we have and move on. Like I always tell the kids, do your best with what you’ve been given, clean up, get ready for the day and then don’t look back. I don’t want them to ever obsess about their outsides or their clothes; that can all change in an instant. What I really want them to focus on is others. Which, in turn, produces internal beauty.
I figure our friends aren’t coming over hoping to see a beautifully manicured lawn or pretty new siding. Just as I hope our friends don’t care that our wrinkles are progressing, along with our bellies, and that our clothes and shoes are old-fashioned. Neither one of us is in the market for a major plastic surgery overhaul, but I know Todd is always dreaming about a whole new look for the house.
I guess I just see the outside as merely holding up the insides. What really matters to me is how it feels once you peek inside. Not even necessarily how it looks on the inside, but the feeling, the ambience, the aura, the atmosphere. I feel the same about people as I do houses when it comes to their insides. Everyone has a different style, personality, set of strengths and weaknesses. I don’t really care how they decorate or position their couches, just as I couldn’t care less if they like to ski or garden. I just love how being in their homes feels. How cozy it feels to be invited into their hearts.
My greatest compliment regarding a house is not really about how it looks—on the outside or the inside. I’m pretty normal and so in all honesty, it’s of course nice to hear that someone likes our style of decorating or the color of paint we chose. But the wind blows that kind of compliment away in a mili-second. What sticks to me like a burr is that our house feels homey. I want friends to feel like family. I want them to hang around. To curl their toes under them in front of the fire on the couch and talk with us all evening. I want them to feel wrapped in warmth, like they’re home. I want them to feel loved and cocooned for the time they’re with us, whether it’s an apartment, new construction or fixer-upper.
So that’s where I choose to spend my energy. Yes, we’ll continue to paint. And find water and mouse issues. Yes, we’ll be ripping up the floors in the near future. And Todd will continue to trim. We’ll carry on with the yard and garden areas. We’ll get new windows eventually. We of course want to make it look as good as we can make it. But even if we never get to those projects and no matter what kind of dwelling we live in, we can all still have the spirit of love in our homes. And that—like the soft warmth of a friend’s heart—is what I think makes it homey. I hope our friends will feel to linger. And come again.
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