Coming Down off an HGTV High

I love visiting Mom. I grew up in a very large Chicago Catholic family and never had time to spend alone with her. As the oldest of seven I had my own chores and schoolwork and lots of better things to do. Mom was always busy with the youngsters and had her own social life. I have come to enjoy the few weeks I am able to spend with Mom each year. One of our favorite things to do on these visits is watch house and garden network shows.
Mom had taste and a classic sensibility garnered from her middle class upbringing. My father had a flair for color and design. Every corner of each room of our house contained miniature vignettes. Dad was a craftsman who designed, built and decorated much of our furniture. As children we also haunted flea markets and antique stores before it was the cool pastime it is today. Without much money we had beautifully decorated rooms. House and garden shows naturally fit into a plan for fun while we were cooped up because of this year's March snowstorms.
I had questions which I noted before I left home. Should I paint the kitchen a new color to match the dusty pink kitchen counter tiles? I would like to remove the old vinyl flooring at our entrance way. With what should I replace it? Purely cosmetic concerns.
Each morning after breakfast we would settle in front of the television. Outside the snow would be falling in heavy wet balls and we were entirely enclosed in our safe little cocoon , mesmerized by the hum of the set.
The standard formats for the various shows differ little. At opening, a beautiful person, sometimes with a British accent, states the problem. A couple is desperate to move, to change or to refurbish their home, inside or out. They either have very little money or all the money in the world. Depending on their finances, they can hire one of three designers, a design professional or a group of students to help them with this process. The problem and the house are shown within the first five minutes. Commercials follow for the next 20 minutes, punctuated by bits of remodel. During the last two minutes we are treated to a look at the final product and sincere thanks by the couple who have either left town for the duration or have been awake for three days painting or replacing floors.
High end customers can chose their favorite of three designers who vie for the honor of tearing apart their current place and present them with a stylized plan and the cost. Upper middle class people can have their marital discord over the remodel soothed by yet another Britain or have great fun with a pricey Canadian who likes to wear lampshades and jokes around with her talented crew. Landscapers can work wonders, changing home facades for curb appeal. Those with less money who need to sell watch a real estate broker insult their home on closed circuit TV and then have a happy, polite person soothe their angst and cosmetically ready them for an open house.
Mom and I would devour these first five minutes, watch commercials, eat, gab or discuss just what we would do, thumb our noses at the choices given the subjects and generally laugh or cry at the outcomes. Sometimes I would find myself suddenly awake at 2:00 am watching the same show I saw at 10:00 pm and wait for the outcome yet again to make sure I hadn't missed anything.
Did I say discuss what we might do? If I could have carried a sledgehammer on my return flight, I would have brought one home with my bags and started flailing at my house before I unpacked. Everything there was substandard. My floors needed to be sanded. There was an offending kitchen wall cutting off light in the room and enclosing a less than roomy table and bench bungalow nook. And then there was the dusty pink tile with the red stripe flanking my old porcelain sink, which also encased my outdated plumbing. French doors needed to open out to a lovely deck which would cover the unsightly basketball court in the backyard. In my mind all of these revisions would take a maximum of one half hour to complete.
My nights were consumed with thoughts of changing my home life for the better. My days were spent drawing plans and visiting home improvement centers. No I didn't like the standard consoles for the new bathroom sink or the acrylic shower surrounds. I needed granite or soapstone at the very least.
I presented my husband, Bill, with some of my ideas. He knowingly looked at me and then his eyes glazed and he nodded. That nod spoke volumes. Yes, I could see that there was a great deal of work involved but he was capable of hard work, and I would be able to help him through every aspect of this remodel. Or was it a rehab.
Yes, I was ready for rehab, but not the housing type. My eyes were becoming irritated from reading catalogs, my fingers numb from long hours at the computer searching for just the right, simple and elegant arts and crafts hardware. I neglected myself and my family and felt symptoms of low house esteem.
The classic symptoms of addiction are well known. The emotional and physical cravings have been depicted in countless movies, self help books and novels. Releasing ourselves from the rigors and torments accompanying the overpowering need to continue and act upon our obsession is nearly impossible. Fortunately I had spent very little cash in this process.
My life began to turn around when I bought a book about affordable remodeling. Reality hit as I looked throughout the book at gutted rooms, dusty floors and many workers with very professional equipment working in areas that were entirely unlivable. If I removed that one tiny non-weight bearing wall, I would then have to replace the entire kitchen floor, find a spot and the plumbing for my washer and dryer, and knock out the back of the house to increase the size of the back door.
Where would we live? How would we pay for this? A roomy table area would not bring my husband to the table for our nightly meals. Didn't I love that cute little nook and the fact that my grandchildren did their homework and snacked there each day after school? Didn't everyone gravitate to the basketball court for fun following family celebrations. My breathing began to slow. My heart rate steadied. The load lifted. Ahhh...
I felt happiness and contentment once again, no longer desperate for change and without that consumer high, I phoned Mom. "You can't imagine what I have just been through", I told her. I could feel the smile behind her voice. "You always were an "all or nothing" gal, sweetheart. Go pick out a pretty color and buy a can of paint and sand the floor at your entrance, and you'll be just fine." I realized then that those weeks we spent laughing, fantasizing and enjoying each other's company, was the perfect redo.