Sometimes I look around our home and wonder, how did I end up in this beautiful home with its black and white striped wall paper, chandeliers and original paintings by us? Not to mention the trendy grey walls, black woodwork trim, black hardwood, black and white checked tile flooring. Also the lacquer upright grande piano, red front loading HE washer and dryer, flick of a switch fireplace, floor to ceiling pantry, attached garage, pedestal sinks in the bathrooms, walk in closet, french door, 9ft ceilings and Hunter Douglas wood blinds. Let’s not forget the impressive entryway with a 2 story ceiling and built in sitting/storage bench, remodeled island and finished stairwell to the basement. I am aware this sounds like a realtor trying to sell you the place but seriously, this place is definitely not for sale. I haven’t even mentioned the backyard with a huge covered deck and brick patio, quaint barn shed and 40 foot columnar aspens we planted ourselves 7 years ago. The reality is totally amazing and surreal.
Yes it’s a carriage house (fancy name for attached home) but who cares? It’s amazing and often times I feel so undeserving to be residing here. And the piece de resistance? I live here with the husband of my youth and, at the moment, our two adult children.
I sit here and gaze around in total astonishment. As if we were full fledged adults, we had this place built and chose all the colours and upgrades and details and I must admit, we made pretty good choices. We even picked out the Schulter. I had never even heard of schulter let alone know what it’s used for. (It’s a nice finishing seal for tiles on walls in case you you have no clue either). Our names are on the mortgage. Maybe that’s not something to brag about… we’re 60 and we still have a mortgage. Such is life.
I mean I actually buy stuff like sheets, pillows, towels and toilet paper. Light bulbs, laundry soap, spices, bandaids and Christmas trees. I have a collection of cookbooks that could turn me into a chef if I’m not careful. Who needs university? I have a sewing machine and a serger and I’m not afraid to use them. A bread machine. A Cricut (a very fancy paper cutter) and a Verrisimo to make exotic coffees for our guests.
Pottery barn, Williams Sonoma, Homesense and IKEA are my favorite stores, although I might mention that most of our furniture…ok-all of our furniture, came out of someone’s garbage, was passed down to us, given to us, bought on Kijiji or found in the ditch at Sylvan Lake. Luckily, we know how to sand, paint and reupholster.
The fact that I am blessed is obvious, but that’s not my point. Adulting is my point. I wake up to find, to my utter amazement, that we actually are adults. I didn’t realize it took 60 years to get here. We take out garbage. Black Tuesday. Green and blue Wednesday. I make meatloaf, banana bread, oatmeal and heart smart salads. So weird because when I was a kid, I vowed when I grew up and could do whatever I wanted (jokes on me), I would eat Captain Crunch for every meal forever.
I often ask myself, whose life is this anyway? As if I were on the outside looking in. I remember living in Toronto while Mike attended chiropractic college, we were poor as church mice and assets were non-existent. Our temporary rented home was functional, basic and boring. We happened to be invited to the home of some friends from church and I was checking out their bathroom, not unlike Steve Martin in Father of the Bride (however I did not fall from their second floor bathroom into the swimming pool) and was amazed and impressed with the pictures hanging in the bathroom, the guest towels, the candle burning, the beautiful bathmat set, the fancy and aromatic soaps and lotions and I clearly remember thinking-so this is how adults live. Someday I will furnish my home like this and I will be an adult too. It’s possible.
You may be thinking, well that’s very obvious…. you are an adult. But is it? I mean our kids are adults if age is a major indicator but I have never really felt like one. Maybe it’s denial??? I ask you, what’s so great about being an adult? You have to make difficult decisions and endure emotional pain very often. You are required to be wise and responsible and unselfish. That’s a tall order that some very aged adults have not reached. I’m not foolish enough to think that the sum total of our stuff and status makes us adults. Our PM and the POTUS have shown us that (did I say that with my outside voice?). However, I do sit here and ponder these things.
Often I feel like an actor in a movie or at least an imposter, pretending to be an adult. Pretending to be married (for 36 years to the same man, now that’s real), with 27 and 30 year old kids. We have a mortgage, insurance, health care, a profession (well my husband and does), debt (most unfortunately), aches and pains, laugh lines (even though life hasn’t been all that funny at times), indigestion, topped off by nightly leg cramps. We wear glasses, have had laser surgery, colonoscopies (now there’s a fun thought), age spots (me). Our first few steps in the morning when we get out of bed mimic those of a 98 year old. Our bodies are adults for sure, my mind just hasn’t caught up yet.
I’m beginning to understand those movies plots that switch courses half way through the movie. These are the things you think about when you have too much time on your hands and worse still, you have the time to write about it.
I must run now and go to my workout followed by meeting with a friend to glean some professional wisdom so I will try to think of a conclusion to this diatribe when I return. Thanks for reading.
The Red Plaid Apron 