Scratch those myths
SHARON McCULLY
I've gone through most of my life with an imaginary pencil, crossing out all the debunked myths and unconventional wisdom passed down from a presumably older and wiser generation.
"Never eat bread when it's hot out of the oven," my grandmother used to warn, raising the specter of fermenting yeast exploding in our hot little tummies as we slept.
Scratch that foolishness.
"The teacher, priest, your parents and generally anyone else older than you are always right." Scratch, scratch.
"Enjoy your children while they're young because before you know it, they'll be off to school and gone."
Scratch that. School's out. I'm continuing to enjoy my children, but I didn't have to rush. They're all of voting, driving and marrying age and I'm still tripping over their (much larger) running shoes at the door and lining up outside the shower for my turn. What my grandma didn't say is that when they come back, they bring their boyfriends, girlfriends, dogs and second-hand cars.
They also bring their own little housekeeping units: Pots, pans and posters that don't quite fit in with the decor. They return to the nest with shadeless lamps, an eclectic assortment of towels and bedding and enough socks to outfit the Armed Forces.
There are music boxes and bedside clocks beeping at all hours of the day and night and yards of mysterious wire strung from one room to an other hooking up speakers, telephones and cables.
All of which would be an extraordinarily interesting study if my husband and I were not focused on presenting our house in the best possible light in order to sell it. Our real estate agent has to conduct mystery tours.
"Underneath these five cars is a paved driveway yes, the lop-sided one will be towed away."
"This room is actually quite large once you remove the boxes of dishes, collectibles, books, the crate of CDs, the guitar, African art and bags of clothes."
"What you see here is a herb and vegetable garden in the middle of a double lot, and those hockey sticks all in a row are actually stakes to hold up the tomatoes." (My daughter, the gardener, calls it Maple Leaf Gardens).
"No, this is not a recycling bin. It's the life work of one of the children who can't bear to part with anything she's written from kindergarten to teacher."
What is even more challenging than selling this house is finding a moderately priced auberge to accommodate a quiet, middle-aged couple.
If I had known it was going to be so much fun for so long, I would have stolen a few more weekends 20 years ago. And I definitely would have eaten more hot bread.
Copyright © 1998 Sharon McCully/Log Cabin Chronicles/6.98 |