Our house is not large enough for both of us. We’ve run out of storage areas. Closets are overflowing. Shelves are buckling from excessive weight placed on them. Halls and stairways are cluttered, and space under couches and beds no longer exist.

When Mighty Marc moved in with his worldly possessions, storage space in my home had already been assigned, not only to my belongings, but to everything left to me by my deceased parents and brother. I didn’t have a single drawer to offer him. They were all filled to capacity with treasured items such as waist cinchers, neckerchiefs and dickies left over from my 1950's high school days, because one day I’ll fit back into those twenty two inch belts, and some day beaver collars with furry ball ties will return to the fashion world and I’ll be ready.

We decided to look for a house with trees and a pool, like we already have, but larger and with more closets and no stairs. My arthritis makes stair climbing increasingly difficult and we have to prepare for the future.

We found several lovely places but when we figured out what expenses would be, we realized we’d never be able to afford to do anything more than sit in the house and stare out the lovely bay windows.

We opted to expand.

After nearly two years of discussion, drawing architectural plans and dealing with town bureaucracy, construction......or should I say destruction..... began on our home. An army of men ascended upon us – each in his own vehicle, so the first weeks were spent directing traffic toward a goal of getting out of my driveway.

"If you move that fork lift over here and the tractor over there, and Jose' parks the bulldozer on my neighbor's newly seeded lawn, John can squeeze his pickup truck into that spot between those boulders he just unearthed. That should leave enough room for me to back out onto the street, and barely escape getting rear-ended by oncoming traffic."

We still haven't resolved the stair problem. We’ll either put in an elevator or a stair lift. An elevator might work best in the speed department but requires using a chunk of space from one of the rooms. Stair lifts are more space friendly but unless they travel as fast as elevators I could spend the better part of my remaining years staring at stairwell walls.

Although architectural drawings have been completed and sanctioned, and work has already begun, every day brings fresh ideas to my over-active, mercurial mind -- most of which include moving more walls, adding windows and ignoring permit-approved drawings. Mighty Marc smiles through it all, and explains to the contractor, "My wife had another dream last night. This one includes removing the roof. I hope that won’t inconvenience you. Her job is to be creative; mine is to keep her happy. But, you’ll see, when the job’s finished you'll want to take pictures."

My husband’s no dummy. He’s learned how to appease me during critical times, to preserves his own sanity. He knows how cranky I get when I have to enter and exit my house through windows. He understands when I go berserk because a construction worker on a scaffold smiled at me through my second floor bathroom window. He hugs my quaking body after I’ve endured eight hours of jack hammering. And, he gently restrains me when I explain my need to hurt someone each time I pull carpenter’s nails from my car’s tires.

I have no doubt that the contractor is dying for this project to be complete. His before and after photographs will not only showcase the transformation of our home, but they will also document how I, too, have changed. After two years of living with disruption, a total lack of privacy, and the need to make urgent, immediate decisions I have changed from perky and cheerful to jerky and tearful.
_________

Ed. Note:  Laverne H. Bardy is a syndicated humor columnist.  Visit her at www.LaverneBardy.com.  Copyright, Laverne H. Bardy, published with permission. 

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Most Recent First Oldest First Most Popular First

AnnML Your story made me want to both laugh and cry! Are you my twin? The description of all the treasures you can’t part with; some yours others your children’s, or your parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles. Sounds like my home, filled to the gills without enough storage. We are also thinking of either moving or adding on. We have plans in hand and have started with a few changes to the house while we work over the process! I wish you all the best with your project; I look forward to hearing your stories.

Mar 6, 2011, 8:48 PM EST

NowAGrandma I keep thinking when I die who is going to clean up this mess in my house, and worse yet what will they say when they see it!

Mar 9, 2011, 3:29 PM EST

pahayden MY suggestion is get rid of the stuff, when my family grew up and moved on, which is one son, My ex and I divorced moved into a 2 bedroom apartment with a storage unit, and started pitching and getting rid of stuff. We are now living separately, we each have our treasures. Life is comfortable and easy, less stuff less to clean.

Mar 12, 2011, 1:36 PM EST

laverneb This is for NowAGrandma who wonders who is going to clean up the mess in her house after she dies. OMG....I think about that a dozen times a week. I am such a collector (borderline hoarder) because EVERYTHING means EVERYTHING to me. Truth is, though....and it pains me to accept this fact....when I die my kids will probably toss everything into the trash because what's important to me isn't likely to be of any interest to them. Ouch...it hurt just to type that. LOL

Aug 11, 2011, 2:22 PM EDT

laverneb Ilove what NowAGrandma has to say here about who is going to clean up the mess in her house when she dies, and what will they say when they see it. I especially think it's funny because I have a girlfriend who, after both her parents had passed away she was in charge of cleaning up the "mess," and was floored when she found a collection of porn movies among her father's belongings. While she realized the humor in the situation, who wants to think of their parents watching porn? YUK...lol

Aug 11, 2011, 4:18 PM EDT

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