We bought
my grandparent’s house back in May and the renovation process has been…
lengthy. There’s wallpaper to come down,
carpet to be torn up, sanding, painting and cleaning to do.
We haven’t
had a living room set up since we moved in. If we want to watch TV we do it in
the basement on an old blue and cream plaid couch. We crowd into the rec room and awkwardly
position ourselves to see the screen.
Our bed is a mattress and box spring on the floor of the spare bedroom-
where I’ve made a night stand out of stacked pillows. Our dressers and other furniture pieces are
tightly packed in the garage- it looks like a well-played game of Tetris.
I complain
to my husband, Nick, at least on a
weekly basis about the house situation.
“Why is it taking so long? Am I
even going to be able to decorate for Christmas? We need some sense of urgency here!” God love him.
After
months of ripping up carpet, pulling hundreds of staples, and removing tack
strips, Nick and I finally made the call to have our hardwood floors
refinished.
After settling from some serious sticker shock (oh,
the joys of home ownership), we moved quickly to set up camp in our
basement. There’s a small room at the
end of the hall where my grandma used to get ready every morning. We called it “the gray room.” Yes,
it’s gray. The walls, the carpet,
the vanity counter top, the shower… all of it.
There was just enough space for
our queen-sized mattress to sit in the middle of the floor.
One night during “basement camp out adventure 2016” we
came home after being out for dinner and decided we weren’t quite tired enough
for bed, but didn’t have the energy to invest in a movie or television
either. In the gray room there is a
closet full of games- some are nearly 50 years old- but we decided on
Tri-Bond. We slipped into our pajamas,
cuddled up in bed, and took turns guessing the commonality between the three
given objects. We drank wine, and
laughed, and fell asleep mid- sentence.
That night, the last thing on my mind was the state of
our house. I wasn’t worried about how much
wall paper was left in the living room, or how there was a layer of dust on
every surface from the hardwood floors being sanded, or what color we’d paint
the fireplace. I was more than content
sitting next to my husband playing a silly game.
We’re often told that memories are more important than
tangible objects. This year, that
message has resonated with me more than ever.
I have a lot of things- closets full of clothes, totes full of shoes,
an incredibly nice house, a Kate Spade purse, and a timeless string of pearls
from Macy’s that will always remind me of my first Christmas with Nick. But none of these “things” matter more than a
shared experience with the people I love.
As I watch my grandfather live with the effects of dementia, “memories”
are given a whole new meaning. His
memories are being slowly stripped from him, but he’s still so happy to make
new ones.
*Shameless plug* This Sunday I’ll be performing in the
Madison County Arts Council’s “Sounds of the Season” (7pm at First United
Methodist Church in London). I’m singing
“Favorite Things”- the first song my grandmother ever taught me to sing. The number was chosen to open the show to
remind people of the wonderful things the Christmas season has to offer- bright
copper kettles, and warm woolen mittens (you know the tune).
This Sunday I’ll sing the lyrics as written, of
course, but I’ll be thinking about my most recent favorite “things:” Tri bond
with Nick, tearing down wall paper while listening to tunes from White Christmas, seeing the look on my
grandma’s face when she saw our wedding photos, countless bottles of wine
shared with friends, and the way Papaw’s mustache tickles me when he kisses my
cheek.
I'll conclude with these fitting words from Bing Crosby- “When you’re worried and cannot
sleep, count your blessings instead of sheep.”
