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Updated 3:10pm - Apr 16, 2014
Updated 3:46pm - Apr 15, 2014

Home arrow Opinion arrow Columnists arrow From the Publisher's Desk arrow From the publisher's desk: Home is where the boxes are

From the publisher's desk: Home is where the boxes are

Do you ever watch HGTV, the Home and Garden channel? Certainly there are better ways to spend valuable free time, but frequently I’ve found myself sucked into the wacky world of home decorating drama and all the nonsense that goes with it.

I’ve stressed out with first-time homebuyers searching for a house with walk-in closets for her, a media room for him and a fenced yard for the dog. I’ve commiserated with the plight of anxious sellers whose house is too cluttered, reflects too much of their personality or has not been properly staged.

I have actually heard myself tell Rick, “That accent pillow would really make our sofa pop,” or, “Solid surfaces in our kitchen would enhance our resale value,” and I’ve wondered where that voice was coming from! I know that deep down I am a minimalist with simple tastes. I am perfectly content in our comfortable home with a roof that doesn’t leak and plumbing and heating that works well. Solid surfaces, popping pillows and the like belong in someone else’s vocabulary, not mine.


The trouble with programs like the ones on HGTV is that they emphasize what you don’t have. In my kitchen I don’t have granite countertops, a sub-zero freezer, a food prep island or a designated wine refrigerator. In the master bath, I don’t have a jetted tub, his and her sinks or a steam shower with spa-like ambiance. In the dining room there is no tray ceiling, chair rail, crown moulding or shabby chic chandelier. In fact, we don’t even have a dining room.

Experts half my age with names like Candace, Kim and Clive spend an entire episode of their lives trying to make me feel like something’s missing in mine and test my confidence in my color, style and décor choices. Who are they to tell me to de-clutter and de-personalize? I like my precarious stack of magazines and books on my nightstand and the photos of my family on the dresser.
   
I woke up on New Year’s Day with an idea. I vowed to turn off Home and Garden Television and spend that time on a home improvement project that would make me happy. My countertops work just fine and there’s no place for crown moulding in a room with floor to ceiling windows. What I’ve wanted most since we’ve moved into our home is to be able to park my car inside the garage. Having to scrape ice off my windshield recently helped move this project up on my priority list.
         
The boxes in our garage contain “stuff” we have not needed or looked at since we moved to the coast in 2001. Several of the boxes have my sons’ names on them and reflect the 11th hour packing of a young man’s life into a box as a moving van waited impatiently in the driveway. In one box there were gym socks, Tom Petty and Bobby Brown cassette tapes, report cards and a rolled up poster of Dan Marino. In another box I found the bedding for a twin bed that belonged to my youngest son. I sold his bed with the house. By then he was living in a college dorm and would never return to his cozy trundle bed or our family home again.

Memories crept out of boxes and bins that had been stacked up and shoved against the walls of garages in Brookings and Crescent City for the last seven and a half years. When I first attacked the project Saturday morning I was certain that I would be able to throw away most of the “junk” and organize the rest to make room for my car. But instead, I lingered over treasures lost and found, pulling out a stray photo album from a 1993 family trip to Disneyland and the yearbook from my sophomore year in college. Every box had something of personal value in it. No matter how I tried, I could not make the contents of the boxes disappear. I had to do what any woman on a mission to eliminate clutter would do: I drove down to the nearest storage rental place and signed a contract on a 10x20-heated unit.

It’s a win-win situation. My old Christmas ornaments, the boys’ school mementos plus the odds and ends I can’t bear to part with yet have a safe warm place to wait until I need to press them into service or find the courage to toss them out. And my garage, now spacious enough for two cars plus the shop vac, chop saw and new interior paint that’s my next project, is now a clean slate, just like this brand new year.
 


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