Fixing up the old house focuses attention on changes, some of them painful

By Angel Larsen

September 19, 2005 | I had to stare at the dark wood panels, shag green carpet and navy blue ceiling every time I entered the master bedroom.

When I married my husband I "inherited" the family farmhouse that no one knows when was built. It is so old that the cement half-basement was never water-protected despite the fact the entire home sits above an underwater spring. As I wander out of the bedroom into the hallway I am greeted by fruit wallpaper in faded green, yellow, red and brown tones. The floor creaks under my feet and dust tickles my nose. Continuing to wander throughout the house, I find gray wood panels as well as faded disco flowers in lime green and fuchsia.

I look sadly at my husband and say, "Do we have 20 years to remodel?" He laughs at me.

The next day I'm in the master bedroom ripping out shag green carpet with an inch of dirt underneath to reveal worn, mismatched tiles. After attacking the floor, I direct my attention to the walls where the wood panels immediately succumb to my hammer and screwdriver. After three solid hours of pulling and yanking I look around to see unfiished sheetrock. Admitting defeat, I slump to my in-laws' home for lunch.

Immediately the conversation turns to how the house remodeling is going. I explain my feeble attempt to claim the bedroom and am greeted by frowns and glares.

"Why are you ripping out that carpet?" my husband's mother asks with a glare.

"It is old and needs replacing," I respond sheepishly.

"I remember when we put that carpet in," she reminisces while staring at a wall as though she is no longer in the room. "We saved for months and months. Finally we were able to convince a friend to lay it for us. Do you understand how much time and money that carpet was?" Again she directs her attention to me.

I politely say that I am sorry but the house is outdated. I explain how everything is falling apart. She curtly shakes her head in disgust. I look to my husband for help and he shrugs and continues eating. We finish the meal in silence.

The next 10 months require many hours of work. I dry wall. I am nagged at why I did not just paint over the wood paneling. I texture the ceiling and walls. Nagged about spending too much time fixing up the home and not visiting my in-laws enough. I put new trim around the doors and windows. Nagged about how I am destroying "history" by fixing up the house. Inch by inch as the room comes closer to completion, the nearer to insanity I become.

In four days we paint the bedroom; tan walls and white trim. My husband puts up a new fan and replaces the broken outlet covers. I buy rugs to cover the tile and put in our furniture. Standing back I now have a modern room with a country garden decor.

Proud of the project finally being completed I call the relatives on both sides to come over and visit to see the room. My grandparents come and adore the room and compliment the hard work. His aunt and uncle bring a bedroom-warming gift for my husband and compliment the room as well. My in-laws visit and walk right past me to look into the room and don't say a word. They look around with scrutinizing eyes and only notice the painting of a cottage by my grandfather.

The conversation turns to why I painted the ceiling to match the walls instead of white, why do I have rugs instead of carpet, and why don't I have the closet doors on yet. After all the work I have done they only pick apart the uncompleted items. After attacking what I didn't do, they pester my husband into how we paid for the supplies and new items. Question after question picks apart the room until they finally leave in silence.

I thank them for coming and shut the door. Returning to the bedroom I look at the newly painted walls and handmade curtains. I admire my artwork and turn to my husband in tears and ask, "Why do they fear change so much?"

NW
MS