I had second thoughts about raiding my hidden, unknown, secret stash of chocolate. The first thought was, "Yes, do it!" The second thought was, "I can buy more to replace it, so why not? This is an emergency." To wash it down I pulled out a 2-litre bottle of Dr. Pepper and carried it halfway across the house to fetch a glass of ice cubes. I'm happy to report I did an about-face and returned the Dr. Pepper to it's emergency spot. That was incredible willpower, seeing how I'm only halfway through day 6 without liquid caffeine.
Dr. Pepper and chocolate are not locked away in my home, but I'm tempted to lock up a few other places. That occurred to me after I'd built up steam before I found lock and key sets in my husband's bathroom drawer. Immediately I was temped to lock up all of his drawers--after I clean them--and many other areas, too. Until our house is sold I almost wish I could, but I won't. I like, love and live with wonderful people, and I don't want to damage relationships.
After cleaning my top bathroom drawer I decided to tackle my husband's top two drawers. How hard can that be, I wondered? After all, I'd tossed out makeup I'd sampled but hadn't used in many months, and I didn't even cry. Feeling confident, I pulled open my husband's top drawer. Mouth agape, I shut it. (Sorry, no photo.) I whipped open his second drawer, eager to conquer something--anything--!
I shut the drawer, only to open it again for a historic photo session. Meet my husband's second drawer, which will remain like this until I gather more courage or he tackles it himself. While we're at it, also meet my Grand's bedroom before I tackled it last week...
It took all day to organize, put together shelves, and get it picture perfect and ready for staging. The best part is that it has stayed that way. Yes, there is picking up to be done daily, but the kids love having hooks for their jackets and bags, a bin for their own shoes (no more sharing a box), and plenty of places for toys.
I love these wire shelves. (Now I sound like an ad, but it's really just excitement.) They are easy to assemble and sturdy, but are also lightweight. My favorites are the taller shelves. The three-shelf unit shown in my grandson's closet is also perfect placed under a clothing rod in an adult's closet with shirts and pants hanging above it.
Yes, I'm kind of a neat-freak. I love order, and although I can't maintain it 100% of the time, I do always keep my home pretty tidy. (I live with other humans who aren't afflicted with my disease, and who daily live like they want to prove it). I keep it tidy, basically. Most of the time. Except those rare moments, when someone comes further inside my home than usual and happens to witness chaos. Oddly, those are also moments when I'm not sick and don't have a visible, detectable excuse.
Back to staging--the not so great part about it, like the little nit-picky things...
I love my stairs with this big window, plant shelf and landing. Many years ago my husband and I took out the floor and put in the stairs. It was scary. I mean terrifying scary. How many people do you know who attack their front room floor with big plans and a circular saw? Following lots of measuring we measured some more, marked, propped, cut, and grew excited. Success followed. The hole opened up our home in amazing ways. Previously the access to the basement was through the kitchen and into a tiny narrow hallway with three doors: one leading to a coat closet, another to the garage, and the last one to the basement stairs. Trying to go to the basement was like hoping to win a game show. What's behind door number one--a party? No, a musty closet full of old boots and coats! Every house needs one, but you lose! No rootbeer floats or pizza inside! If we ever finished off the basement and threw a party, every guest had to traipse through the kitchen, hope they selected the correct door, and then make their way down the extremely narrow and dark stairway into the party hall. I had nightmares of trying to carry a platter of hor d' oeuvres down as someone raced up. In slow motion follow along: Head meet elbow. Pate meet face. Everything meet carpeted stairs. Everyone trip, fall, slip and slide. Clatter. Clang. Cuss. Eventually we did finish off the basement and hosting parties became natural and fun.
Basically, most days the new (8-year old) stairs are the party. My Grands "snowboard" down the side hanging onto the railing. This pair actually do it barefoot so it needs minimal fixing up, but it still needs a little work. BTW: the old stairwell's gaping black hole magically received a floor and we transformed the space into a walk-in pantry about 10 feet deep and located right behind the kitchen. It's perfect!
Staging really is fun. It makes me smile. Cleaning does too. I guess the hard part is thinking about the parting. The separation of Place and Fulfilled Dreams. I haven't yet discovered where I'm going, so new dreams haven't begun flowing. Until that happens, all of my living is currently wrapped up in this home, and oddly, past homes, too. Thankfully, mostly the best of those homes. I've been wandering through family memories as I stage. Of laughter. Plans. Growing kids. Neighbors. Achievements. The satisfaction of daily living, family gatherings, good friendships, successes, trials met and overcome....
This--life--the stepping from one phase to the next--has become wrapped up in the staging.
I wipe down a wall and remember the bird cage that once stood in the corner. The bird is long gone--given to a niece--but without effort the forgotten memory flew home. I open the door leading into the garage to grab a mop and in flows a flood of memories of when we prepared the motorcycle for an epic journey to Canada. I hadn't expected the excitement to rush through the door like that! The door is now hard to shut physically, but it's impossible to do so mentally, and I don't want to. So I mop and vacuum and dust in my home while also in Calgary at the stampede, in Waterton by the lake, in Vancouver. Another time I drive down my driveway to head to the store to buy a new shower curtain to replace a wilted looking one, but suddenly I find myself seeing everything around me as when I first arrived in my Happy Little Village 12 years ago. I see again what I've seen for years now, and also everything new that has crept in. All the timelessness. Every apple tree. Fields where deer browsed and napped. My eyes become glued to the mountains and sky as if I'll never see them the same again. I may only move down the road, but I could find myself in the next valley, so I memorize everything!
Yes, staging my home is hard. I've had to change my mindset. House. House. House, I repeat. This is a house. I'm letting go of home and returning this structure to house. My house still, but still, house. Wood, windows, and brick. Staging is a very deep mental and emotional process. I'm staging space between walls--the middle space between yesterday and today, and the unseen and unknown tomorrow. In my heart I'm battling between hanging on and letting go.
Because I love this home, staging to sell is hard. So I'm attempting to stage a happy ending here.
Above
View of a late September snowstorm descending on Lone Peak. This weather is similar to what we experienced the day we moved here. Our side porch is a perfect place to watch storms roll past and to hear the bells chime on the hour in our Happy Little Village. 
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