Fantastic spacious 1 story high ceilinged house! Lots of updates: Granite counter top, new 5 burner cooktop, laminate all over the house, extended stone patio, 1 year roof, new paint in and exterior, wood window blinds, full gutter, professionally designed drapery, new dishwasher, turbo vents in attic, ceiling fan in all rooms. Excellent neighborhood schools!
Last week, the house I grew up in went up for sale. The above “property details” is what our realtor posted on the various online real estate sites for prospective homeowners to find. The above description is my childhood home commodified into marketable parts, and its prose is a little utilitarian and profoundly unfair to this remarkable house so I thought I would come up with my own more loving (read: biased but better) description:
Smaller than average house in a middling but ambitious suburb, perfect for timid immigrants with one school-age child who have little interest in hobnobbing with the neighbors. Four bedrooms, and that one child has slept, napped, and jumped on the beds in every single one of them. Only the closet of one, however, contains the corpses of childhood monsters, the three hangmen from The Sixth Sense who cried out with their eyeballs lolling, the Wicked Witch of the West who stole shoes, and their leader, a bleeding, life-size Jesus who wasn’t crucified properly in an East Texas wax museum. There aren’t quite enough bathrooms, especially when the new housecat the teenager had begged seven years for commandeered the bathtub as his hunting ground until he became brave enough to venture into the backyard. And the yards have seen quite a lot of death. There was a young rabbit that was accidentally murdered by the cat who tried to bring it back into the house as a gift, but more importantly, several trees have been unceremoniously hacked down for the sake of the all-important god, Foundation. The big-leafed one in the front is gone, and along with it, its shade. It has since been replaced by the current dinky one with spindly branches. The driveway is missing the pear tree the grandfather planted thirteen years ago, and although that tree was the only way the mother could find her way to our garage when driving down a row of identical houses, it was uprooted when it grew too tall. Its trunk has been memorialized into three wooden bowls. There was also a persimmon tree; it disappeared one summer and the returning college student is not sure what happened to it, but it was probably a sacrificial lamb as well. Two beautiful pomegranate bushes face each other. One is over-eager and produces hundreds of heavy pomegranates every September that no one can finish and are forcefully gifted to friends or left to rot. The other has bore a grand total of three fruit in the thirteen years it has squatted pretentiously in its landscaping. One Christmas, the dad reluctantly climbed onto the roof to affix the necessary festive lights, and he was scared shitless. Christmas lights have not graced this house since that winter. The kitchen is spacious, and thank goodness for that because the air there is thick with the lingering shrillness of family screaming matches made courtesy of the failure of recipes, or, more commonly, the failure of expectations. The pantry door has charted the heights of an undergrown child: the markings begin with such promise, but they eventually level off in 2008 a good inch below the line labeled “mommy.” These lines will of course be begrudgingly painted over in due time to make room for, hopefully, a taller child. Finally, the difficult to match, but economical granite counter tops in the kitchen and equally economical laminate flooring in the house are a product of years of saving and represent for you, dear future homeowner, the climb up the suburban social strata. Purchase this property, and you will have a head-start on your friends (although not your neighbors, but you don’t talk to them remember?).