January 08, 2011 - 3:31 p.m.
House hunting
I thought about this when I first kissed you
we waited, longer than I usually wait,
timing, illness, hesitant
in my state of heart
if finding 'it' is like purchasing a home, house hunting, you walked into my life when I was fresh on the market
most,
when they first walk through the door
are impressed by the decor
(which rarely comes with the house)
they oooh and ahhh about a sectional,
the fourteen year old boys explodes, 'cool! an X-box'
I'm not interested in your x-box
So many are distracted by the gaming systems,
the trendy upholstery,
things strategically placed,
like flattering photos, smiling couples shots, amateur self-portraits that make people look askew and pouty,
distracting the viewer from structural flaws.
I never noticed the holes in the wall
that Geraldine put here,
until her oversized furniture was out
so many, so many walk around these rooms, imagining themselves lounging comfortably on the sofa
getting a beer, maybe wine, out of the fridge
playing house here, in my heart,
and noticing some of the cracks, but not caring
wear and tear,
antiquing
an ecclectic mix of past and present selves
and you walked in
and I felt
for the first time
perhaps,
like a serious buyer had crossed the thresh hold,
you noticed
you assessed
eyes flickering
intake of breath,
truly excited about the things others overlooked
- the crown molding, high ceilings, hardwood floors,
the flattering lighting
did not distract you
from the space itself
you felt yourself step inside
and fit
saw the potential
neither sure whether we were really looking
to be bought
or sold
past pricing being too high, or insultingly low
we own our own homes
like we own ourselves
I do not need a husband to make this all fit
I saw you see this house, with so much quirk and contradiction, clean and orderly, cluttered and warm, able to laugh at itself, skulls alongside grandmother's velvet chair. A room dedicated to clothes, to dress up and play.
Unafraid to state itself
a home
a place to laugh, to cook
to drink wine
to spend days while the snow falls outside
two feet high on the silhouttes of the bistro chairs
to slide open the patio door, hit by a wall of heat in summer
and sit, drinks sweating on the patio
as a house to raise a family in
full of possibility
first impressions can be misleading
i have been fooled before. I chose this home because it is unassuming. Tucked away and all mine, more understated, my own private palace, bursting once the door is flung open.
No, don't ignore the curb appeal
less pronounced than before,
I used to dwell in predictable neighbourhoods, where the same faces tilted hellos, coffees in hand and alcohol still on our breaths from last night
still, they slow to look
as they drive by, older now, wiser now
some of us still travel on foot, public transportation, we have moved further east or west, defining ourselves by street names and longitude
some have moved out altogether, claiming space in a city which is no longer our home
we stalk our old haunts in stack heels, wondering who lives there now,
raising our eyebrows as
Jersey Shore and the Real L-word people our streets
The neighbourhood is rougher now
But I have hardly noticed, until I realize I feel tired,
I have been long-occupied
preoccupied
patching up cracks
and holes in the wall
preparing, behind brick, to walk softly out,
my own front door
no need for soliciting, no for sale sign posted garishly
you will know you live here
when the spare key
finds its way
to your hand
without words,
negotiations,
contracts,
agents
or taxation
you will wake up one morning
and be home
