Despite being 50-something, I’ve
allowed time and gravity to take their toll on my face. No eyelid surgery, no neck lift, no jawline
lift, no Botox, no fillers, no nips or tucks of any kind for me—so far. Instead, I’m giving our home a nest lift. As many of my readers know, Henry and I are
converting our son’s room into a den, including a new rug, a convertible sofa bed,
and a flat screen TV. I didn’t want to
look at a sad and cluttered shrine to Max and his dog, complete with assorted carpet
stains left by both of them. (Sparky, Max’s Norwich terrier, died earlier this
year. See “For Sparky with Love,” 1/31/14). No, instead of wallowing in
nostalgia for the past, I prefer to celebrate the next chapter of my life with
Henry. Improving our home is a fun project we can share: re-feathering the empty
nest.
In addition to creating a den in
Max’s old room, we decided to make some other long overdue improvements, such
as purchasing a new dining table and chairs.
(Our current dining room set is falling apart after almost 25 years of
hard service.) After starting the
re-feathering project, Henry and I stumbled upon new living room chairs that we
both decided we had to have. Of
course when all the elegant and colorful furniture finally arrives, we’ll need
some new lighting. Every lighting
fixture in our apartment is a quarter century old; most of them have been
repaired more than once. Uh-oh, the bills are starting to add up to the cost of
a good plastic surgeon. . . but isn’t redecorating so much more FUN than a face
lift? Besides, it’s a better investment. Unlike a face lift, our furniture will
probably look sleek and lovely a lot longer than my post-menopausal skin. If
“beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” I’d rather be the one beholding, and
enjoy the beauty around me instead of trying to live up to some impossible
ideal of youth in an effort to please others.
Not that nest refurbishing is all
beauty and fun. No, the first and most necessary step in nest rehab is a paint
job. UGH!! To make the experience more
palatable (and less inconvenient), we skip painting our bedroom and our
daughter Sarah’s bedroom, allowing us to move art, furniture and assorted odds
and ends from the rooms being painted to the “undisturbed” rooms. This decision
spared me from hours of bubble wrapping our-beautiful-but-seemingly-endless-collection
of family photos and packing them in cardboard boxes. Also, we have a sanctuary from paint fumes and
dust (at least while we sleep and shower). The worst part about the paint job is
being exiled from my desk. How can I write my blog on my computer and handle
the details of our family’s daily life? It’s
only temporary, I tell myself. Three
days of paint-spattered guys with pony tails invading my space is not the end
of the world, right? Refurbishing is kind of like diet and exercise—no
pain, no gain.
Of course, once the painting
begins, there’s no turning back. My furniture is piled—some of it upside
down—in the center of my living room. My walls are naked, stripped of art and
photos. Worst of all, my desk and
bookcase are swathed in plastic. Ditto
the kitchen. Clearly, we are well past the point of no return. Everything has
been shuffled around the nest, stowed in our storage bin, donated to the
Salvation Army or thrown away. I’m
afraid I may never find half the stuff I tucked here and there. Damn, this
paint job is turning into hide and seek.
“Where are you, phone charger?” I
beseech the empty nest to cough up its treasures.
No answer.
I decide to leave before choking on paint dust
or tripping over a drop cloth.
A friend has offered me sanctuary
for a few hours this afternoon, including the use of a laptop so I can finish
my blog. (Thankfully, she also has a compatible phone charger, so I will not be
left incommunicado). Is this a mini-taste of how Napoleon felt when he was
exiled to Elba? (One of the painters
actually admitted that HE would prefer ME to leave!) Of course I don’t take it
personally, (even if it is MY
home). I don’t want to get in their way
(even if they‘re getting in mine). Now
that I’m closed out of most of my apartment, I wonder if this is how our
beloved Sparky felt when we ate dinner and locked him in a bedroom, so he
wouldn’t pester us for scraps. Speaking
of dinners, the good news is that Henry and I will have to eat at a restaurant
at least one extra night this week. After hours organizing and moving
paintings, furniture, and 23 years of this-and-that, I’m delighted that
somebody else will serve me dinner and handle the clean-up afterwards.
By the time I post this blog,
hopefully the worst of the paint job will be behind me and some—if not all—of
my worldly possessions will be retrieved and returned to their original
locations. (OK, I can always hope, can’t I?) Honestly, I’m SO looking forward
to enjoying the clean, fresh “skin” on my apartment walls. Already, I’m in LOVE with my “key lime green”
bathroom. The painter confessed that he
“hated the color” when he opened the can, but “loves it now that he sees it on
the walls.” (My walls!) “It really DOES
brighten things up,” he acknowledged.
What the painter doesn’t know is
that I wanted to keep the bathroom green because it’s Sarah’s favorite color,
and I know she will love the cheerful shade.
When the paint dries, I’ll explain that key lime pie is a delicious
dessert. That will definitely make my daughter smile, which will then make me
smile….
“Thank you.” I grin at the painter,
showing him all my teeth. He’ll be gone
soon, hopefully tomorrow or the next day. And then it’s time to shop for new
towels. Lavender, maybe? Or perhaps
melon? Color is an anti-depressant and
key to my strategy in empty nest lifting.
Will I enjoy the results as much I had hoped? Stay tuned . . .
Labels: 50-somethings, Botox, dens, empty nesters, eyelid surgery, face lifts, furniture, lavender, Norwich Terriers, paint jobs, painters redecorating, Salvation Army