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November 24, 2011

It was strange walking through our old house this morning, considering it with buyer’s eyes. Ten weeks ago, I was the one walking through other people’s homes, trying them on for size. Now it’s their turn with my house.

By the time we finished updating and painting last night, it didn’t look like our house anymore. My single Celadon green wall in the living room, the one that took its cue from the vase I bought on my first adoption trip, is gone, as are all the white walls that lit the entire first floor with sunlight so bright that in the afternoon I could almost overlook the gouges and fingerprints inflicted by thirty cumulative years of childhood. The nicks and smudges are all gone, too –vanished by putty and primer.

The house sparkles now in another way, like a shiny new toy under cellophane needing the love of a child. It needs a few spaghetti sauce spatters on the range. Some yogurt on the cupboards. Crayon doodles about two feet up off the floor. And a little finger-sticky on the stair-rails, please. Cleaned and oiled, the banisters glare in the sun; if someone stumbles and grabs one, they will slip and fall!

The Realtor decreed that one old color could stay: the “sunny, happy” yellow in Mercy’s room; the other three bedrooms are fresh white. The mushroomy “Creme Soda” in the lower bath and the mossy green in the family room are only 18 months old and passed as “contemporary.” The kitchen is now “Wood Ash” (looks like Plain Vanilla to me) and the first floor is a uniform “Squire Hills Buff” which I can only describe as being three shades lighter than the carpet I would call “Brown Paper Bag.”

An empty, clean, neutrally decorated, mortgage-free house with a big yard on a cul-de-sac in a great neighborhood. Our Realtor thinks it will be on the market less than 30 days. Let’s hope that’s God’s plan!

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