Time is a Thief

  I have been watching this show. It's actually a You Tube channel and the name of it is Urban Eye. I don't know exactly how I came across it. Maybe it was suggested to me, based on my love for old houses and chateaus. One evening I clicked the link, intrigued and I haven't been able to tear myself away. There are no spoken words, it's just piano music, really, beautiful piano music, as a house comes into view and a short written history, with occasional gross misspellings (which I graciously overlook). Usually of what was, and sometimes what is now. Sometimes there is a surprise at the end, either something very good, or something terrible. You never know. And you can never tell by the outside of the house how the inside will be. Sometimes the outside will be decaying and the inside will be surprisingly intact. Sometimes the outside will be nice and the inside will be a disaster. As the camera moves inside you kind of have to prepare yourself. It is my kind of spellbinder. 

Sometimes there will be pictures of what it looked like in it's heyday, juxtaposed with how it is today. Sometimes it's haunting. There have been a couple of them that have ripped my heart out. One such episode featured a house in California that had fallen into disrepair and then delightfully restored, although I didn't particularly agree with his taste in furniture. I breathed a sigh of relief. This wasn't going to be one of the bad ones. Only to see a note flash up on the screen at the last second, saying that the entire house had gone up in flames in the Eaton fire earlier this year, along with photos of the inferno. Rip. my. heart. out. 

I love old houses. I know this is silly, but I feel like they have personalities. Nothing delights me more than a well kept old house. And nothing horrifies me more than seeing a house that was once stunning with the roof falling in, and graffiti all over the fireplace mantles, and broken open windows with the rain coming in. Well, except one thing. I just watched an episode of an old Greek Revival that had been stripped of every single thing that was even architecturally interesting. It took me a minute to catch on. I couldn't figure out what was wrong with the columns on the porch. They were just sticks holding up the porch. Then I realized the doorknobs were gone, as well as the decorative doorway casings, the entire stair rail, and of course, all of the mantels. The only word that came to my mind was rape. The house looked like it had been raped of every good thing. Maybe that word is too strong. Maybe I'm making too much of it. Maybe whoever owned it last sold it all to an architectural salvage company. It was just sad. But not as sad as the ones where the people just left and never came back for their stuff. Pictures, clothes, furniture, just sitting in the silent house, forever, until someone comes to make things new, or tear it all down. 

What haunts me, though, is the ones where the once grand Dame, with the beautiful woodwork and graceful windows has been reduced to weird colors, and ugly paneling, dirty shag carpet and horrible wallpaper. The ones where people took the things they cared about and left the rest as trash. Flotsam. Junk. Garbage, left all over the house. Dirty walls and sagging everything. Broken windows. And the aforementioned graffiti. One thing that occurred to me as I watched, is that old adage, time is a thief. 

I love old houses. In particular there is one old house I love the most, and that is my own. As I sit with my mouth half hanging open in equal astonishment at the stunning and stunning decay, I think about where I am with my own home. I burned out a long time ago on fixing this place. We have been here 23 years and I have been just contenting myself with keeping it clean and an occasional coat of paint when it was needed. But after watching this show a few times, I began to look around. I wondered what happened to the drive I used to have to make this home a lovely home. I saw the paint splotches on the floor left by the former owners. Why have I never done something about that? I noticed my baseboards. They need cleaning. I have windows that need repairing. I began to look around with fresh eyes, and ask myself what I could do to make this place nicer. It's been a long time since I felt that stirring. 

And, I decided, the first thing I would do was a whole house purge. The images of the lovely homes descending into crack houses has haunted me. All that junk. 

I have a lot of junk. It's all behind closed doors, but it's there. In every nook and cranny, every closet, cabinet and cubby. I'm tired of it. I don't want it. 

So I got off my duff and went through every single thing in my room. The sink cabinet, the bathroom, the cubbies, all the end tables, and I made a couple of piles. One to Goodwill, one for trash. It took me all day. And it felt wonderful. I have yet to get into the closets. That will be tomorrow. I have already started on the office. It's more difficult there, because there is more sentimental stuff there than anywhere else, and it's also the art room and of course it's where the paperwork is, the bills happen here. 

And we have called some people to take care of some of these things we have gotten behind on. We have a new water heater waiting to be installed. The dead tree outside the house will be gone next week. We have made plans to replace the rotted soffit on the north side of the house and after that a new living room floor. I am also making plans to replace the broken windows, and I actually spent actual thinking time about how I could sand those paint spots off the floor in my bedroom without bending down, since I'm old, now. Think a Swiffer type pole with sand paper stuck to the bottom. I may need to refine this plan a little. I don't think a swiffer would be exactly right for the job, but something along those lines. It seems like some of my fire is coming back online. I want to do better by my house.

I think about how my house will be after I'm gone. Will it be abandoned, or worse, will the next people trash it, or just let it rot? Will it be loved as much as I have loved it?

I'm kind of glad I can't know. It's actually the one thing that has held me back from selling it. The Mr. wants to. He wants to travel. He wants something more modern. I have told him if we ever move I will have to go far away and never look back again. I could never bear seeing something bad happen to this place after all the blood, sweat, tears, and money we have poured into this place. It would kill me. 

So tomorrow on with the purge. Going through the underside of the craft desk, where all the past projects have gone to die. And the bedroom closets. And the upstairs bathroom. And then I will have to take a break. It's been about 108 degrees here, and the AC, even though it's brand new, cannot keep up with that kind of heat. By afternoon all you can do is sit in front of the fan and watch more TV or read a book or nap. 

The girls are back in school and they seem to be loving it. Arya is in fourth grade, and Claire in second grade. Time, certainly is a thief.