Let
Me Be Me
LISTEN TO YOUR HOME
Listen To Your Home
Walking into their home was
like entering a time capsule from the 1960s.
Particle-board walls were smothered with generations of
family photos and plaques paying tribute to God. An array
of gold and orange chairs and couches crowded the small
living room. Fake potted plants and flowers cheered
corners. Kitchen cupboards harbored sets of mismatched
dishes and silverware, cartoon glasses, and time-worn
pots, pans, and bakeware. Hairline cracks in the walls
and yellowed paint bespoke of settling in the home's
arthritic joints.
All four children had flown the coop long ago, and Aunt
Jan worked a minimum-wage job to support her disabled
husband and herself. She'd been doing that for over 30
years now. Scraping by with enough to keep up a tidy home
and care for her husband. For a while, they used the old
house next door to sell used clothing and other goods as
a means to keep their heads above water, but her
husband's health took a turn for the worse. The "garage-sale
house" was closed for now.
I knew of someone whose entire home was straight out of
an interior decorator's blueprint. The lampshades and
furniture were covered in clear plastic, stiff hand-embroidered
pillows were
fluffed up just so, the designer drapes hung crisply from
rods, and throw rugs protected every thoroughfare
imaginable to protect the white carpet underneath. Much
to my embarrassment, sitting on the couch made crinkling
sounds that alerted everyone to how often I shifted my
position. I had finally settled for a rocking chair next
to the fireplace. A misnomer, considering it had never
known the warmth of a blaze on a winter's night even
though a gleaming set of brass fireplace utensils stood
on alert nearby.
It was a nice place to admire from say, the pages of a
catalog. I could imagine the chilled look on my hostess'
face had I brought my children on that particular day.
She fluttered around me, making sure my drink was
properly situated on a coaster and the magazines on the
glass-topped coffee table fanned out in a tasteful manner.
I was afraid to use her hand towel in the bathroom, it's
lacy fringe a clear signal that meant "hands off!"
So I used a tissue to wipe my hands, but then where was
the trash can?
On a hunch, I opened the cupboard beneath her sink. There
it was. Trash, in my friend's opinion, should be out of
sight. Her home spoke to me that day. It said, "We
value the longevity of furniture over friendship."
One day, while Stephen was working out in the yard, my
friend drove for the first time out to our fixer-upper,
which stood prominently at the end of our street. Not
seeing Stephen, a look of disgust registered on her face
before she changed her mind and turned her car around.
I never saw nor heard from her again.
"Make yourself at home!" Aunt Jan said brightly.
And I did. I sank into one of the orange chairs. No one
would know how often I shifted my position in this chair,
I thought with a sigh. I imagined the look on my friend's
face had she strode into a home like this. I think I
would've had to call 911.
Other relatives who drove in for this family reunion
streamed into the living room, and soon the house was
filled with animated chatter, hugs, and easy laughter.
Plenty of chairs, couches, pillows to go around. Some sat
at the dining room table or on high stools. Some sat
cross-legged on the floor, beckoning my one-year-old to
crawl to them. Our boys giggled, playing with toys
amongst the tangle of legs.
Cody, our six-year-old, summed it up out of the blue,
"Mom, I wish we lived here!"
Aunt Jan's house spoke volumes to me that day. It said
simply, "Feel the love!"
I pictured God's throne. It was orange and cushy and
threadbare in all the right places. Just like the one I
was sitting in.
Take a moment and listen to your home. What do you hear?
Copyright © 2001 by Jennifer Oliver.
All rights reserved.
Jennifer Oliver fourears@hotmail.com Write
Jennifer and let her know what you thought of her story!
Heartwarmers
Gem Jennifer resides in the heart of Texas with her
househubby, Stephen, and four kids, ages 1 to 6 years.
Check out her website at: http://www.geocities.com/jenniferioliver2001
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