March 16, 2004
Star Struck... Let's take five with Moira Gunn. This is "Five Minutes."
If you're a Baby Boomer like me, your mantra is to get rid of stuff - not acquire it. Yet for those of us who are the keepers of our family heritage, that's easier said than done.
I was reminded of this recently while perusing the Real Estate section. The case study for the week concerned "staging" your home - a technical term which means filling small rooms with even smaller furniture so everything looks bigger to potential buyers on the walkthrough. Much gets rolled in by way of department store art, and much gets rolled out by way of your life. Apparently, no one wants your life, even if you do.
The challenge for this particular stager, who quick-like-a-bunny had re-painted all the rooms in the house, was to convince the homeowner to paint the wall over the bar in the family room. It seems that 30 years before, when she and her late husband first moved in, their friends gathered for a housewarming, and they'd all signed their names.
Not only didn't she want to paint over it, deep down, she didn't even want to leave it.
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These relics carry such good connotations that just looking at them makes us feel warm and happy. And I should know. I've got some of my own.
When my boys were mobile but not yet pre-school, we pasted stars across a door to elicit a particular behavior. It was a big production, but it worked. It actually was only aimed at the older one, but the little one, who couldn't even talk, had insisted he get a few stars, too. When success finally emerged, the stars marched fast and furious across the door and down the side. And the rewards came, as well.
Although the littlest guy could barely talk, it didn't mean he was oblivious. In short order, he did exactly what we'd been asking his older brother to do. I was both shocked and delighted. Then he looked me straight in the eye, pointed up at the stars and insistently mouthed a garbled, although recognizable, version of the two big rewards.
"You betcha!" I exclaimed, and we all lived happily ever after. As have the stars, which are now peeling, and the doors, which are equally challenged.
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Like the lady in the newspaper article, everything but my precious shrine had been spruced up repeatedly. And like her, I still can't bring myself to call in the demolition team. Then again, I wasn't staring down a professional stager.
The stager had earlier taken her digital camera and photographed the signatures on the wall. Then she made a wonderful print, placed it in a lovely frame and wrapped it in beautiful paper. Needless to say, the homeowner was thrilled. She even said she felt better about selling her house. She wasn't leaving a piece of her husband behind.
I was stunned. And then I saw stars. The peeling ones. Was it possible? Could my life go on? Could I always be able to conjure up those feelings of a time so precious to me?
Well, the doors still stand, but their days are numbered. And now I've got to go see Mrs. Meiswinkel down the street. She's re-building her entire kitchen around a 1960's sliding pocket door. It marks the heights and dates of each of her five children, as well as every kid on the block.
I tell you - I've got my work cut out for me.
I'm Moira Gunn. This is Five Minutes.
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