If our house could talk...

It would be sputtering unintelligible words in between its intermittent sobbing episodes. It has been bruised and abused as much on the inside as on its exterior. We have duct tape holding up the trim siding adjacent to the garage. Really. One of the kids tried out the country blue paint on the gray post on the front porch. At this point, I suppose the wood could use a fresh coat of paint. After all, I took on the challenge of removing and repainting all of the window shutters last year before putting them back in place, but not before the bees who made their homes beneath some of the shingles let me know of their extreme dissatisfaction at my having destroyed their homes in my endeavor to improve the looks of mine.

We did add the porch last year and replaced the splintering wood planks of the decking. We do try to remove the snow from the deck after the storms to ensure its longevity. The windows don't have to be exposed to the elements of winter with the storm windows now taking the brunt of New England's unforgiving weather. The storm doors got fresh coats of paint.

So we do maintain and take care of the home. Nearby trees are trimmed and pruned and we never abandon our landscaping duties for the best curb appeal we can get, albeit we are on a busy road, the house is set down from it, and cars speeding past barely glance at our abode.

As for the soul of this house, well let's just say there have been plenty of near misses. It truly is a wonder the fire department has never been summoned from any of the incidents brought on by the young'uns that could have easily turned catastrophic if not for timely intervention. The telephone and lantern flashlight baking in the toaster oven come quickly to mind. The microwave plate has had to be replaced, but the box ironically does still function despite attempts at cooking things that don't agree with it. Today, for instance, I was in the middle of an argument with my 8-year-old about his displeasure at having to be dismissed from school for a second orthodontic opinion, when less than an hour earlier, he was telling me how much he hated school. If that is't the pot calling the kettle black. But that's another blog entry. We were arguing, when from the kitchen, I heard a troublesome-sounding noise. It sounded like a fork or spoon was being spun in the incinerator, and I rushed to save it from its beating. Not to mention salvaging the incinerator, which has been replaced before. Twice or three times. I lost count. But I was wrong and didn't win the price for Name That Sound. Nobody is near the incinerator, and it isn't on. It was the microwave making that strange noise. The fire inside was a dead giveaway. The culprit stood less than 3 feet away, barely 3 feet tall.

The evidence didn't burn completely, the package of Carnation Instant Breakfast whose interior is something of metal, which we all know, never should go into a microwave. No crisis, just a small fire to put out. Opening the door did just that, thankfully, so there was no need to run for the extinguisher. Just a little burned paper, and even the interior of the microwave barely got singed.

Meanwhile, we are babysitting the boiler downstairs, who spilled its contents unexpectedly on Saturday. Do these things ever happen on a weekday? We did revive it with some boiler seal long enough to buy us a few more days while we shop around for a new one, which is definitely necessary. It only gave the house twenty years, but they were a good twenty years, eleven of which we have seen. We are taking care not to overuse it, sacrificing a couple degrees of heat, putting off the laundry, and taking really quick showers. With luck, we will have a brand new boiler in the place of the ailing one by week's end. The rusty water that spilled out, unfortunatley, will probably be a constant reminder of the first one. But the basement is water-proofed, and that saved the finished part of the basement from suffering any wrath rusty water will leave behind.

But you know, despite the house falling down around our ears and our constant attempts to stand it back up, we at least can do so. We can go to bed every night with a roof over our heads. It's not a new house, but it sure has character, and definitely from all its abuse, both intentional and not, the stamina and will to live on.

We love this old house.