“Chuck, are we going to have to call 911 to get us off the floor?” We both laughed … well, kind of.
We had been sitting for four hours on the original hardwood floor of my childhood home, working to get it ready for the Open House. Mom and Dad would have been proud of how their 1950 National Home looked. Mom would say, “Company is coming; let’s get her looking spit-shined.”
Finally rising off the floor, we wobbled to the car. My witty husband remarked, “You know America’s Funniest Home Videos would have loved seeing us getting up off the floor.” It was not a pretty sight.
After taking two Aleve, a long, hot Dr. Teals Bubble Bath, and lying down with my backside on two heated rice bags, I realized I was no longer in the prime of my life. My get-er-done was wearing out.
I swear, I had inhaled dust from the last seven decades as we cleaned the garage, attic, and shed. Mom didn’t allow dust in the house; Pledge’s aroma was about as potent as Clorox Bleach’s.
Dad did a lot of tinkering in the garage and always had the cleanest workbench. Tools had a place, and everything was returned to its place after every use. He had a screw and a nail for every need, tucked into tiny drawers by their size. He took pride in how his garage looked. He considered it a room in his home.
If you remember from my column in July, we had significant damage from an AC leak in Chuck’s house in Tampa. We had been there several weeks, putting the house back together after the repairs. It was like moving as nine rooms were packed up and furniture removed. Scott Leonard, Chuck’s son, surprised us by flying in and putting most of the furniture where it belonged. It was like an episode of Extreme Home Makeover when we walked in the door and saw all he had done. “Oh, my goodness!”
I have, honestly, felt like we have been in a marathon of HGTV episodes of Fixer Upper, Two Chicks and a Hammer, and Love It or List It. It’s fixed up. There was one chick. I loved it, but it was time to list it. I am physically tired and emotionally weary.
I’ve made more decisions in the last four months than in years. I’ve climbed ladders, tucked away memories, and sorted through hundreds of paint colors. I have the names of painters, contractors, flooring guys, junk removal guys, home cleaners, and landscaping people in my contacts. You name the need, I gotta guy or a gal. I have them in Tampa and Noblesville.
My texts often chime with a notice of a showing for the house in Noblesville. I can’t imagine living in a home for sale, having to keep it tidy, and leaving at a moment’s notice. Ugh.
The house in Tampa is ready for us to rest our worn-out bodies. So, when Chuck said, “Let’s go,” we took off this week, and our flight wasn’t even delayed!
Photo provided
On Wednesday night, Chuck suggested we go to the beach on Friday. (Have I told you lately that I love my husband?) The beach is my happy place, not his. His happy place is the golf course. He chose the beach as he knew I needed to go there to allow the sound of the waves to reset my thoughts and calm my weary body and soul.
I walked the beach, and I could feel my body relax. I prayed and thanked God for giving Chuck and me the strength to do all that we were able to get done.
After my walk, I returned to where Chuck was lying on his beach chair, napping. I nestled down onto my chair and shut my eyes for a bit. We soon realized we were toasted and roasted enough, so we needed to leave.
If only you could have seen us trying to get up from the beach chairs. The much younger couple next to us asked if we needed help. Pride answered, “No, but thank you.” Pride then also gave us the strength to get up quickly.
Thankfully, we could get up and wobble with our chairs, beach bag, and pride to the car. Gravity is more of a challenge the older you get, and so is home ownership.
Janet Hart Leonard can be contacted at janethartleonard@gmail.com or followed on Facebook or Instagram (@janethartleonard). Visit janethartleonard.com.