My Life in 1969

Welcome to 1969!  Hello, blue shag carpets!

No, I'm not using fuzzy math, I wasn't really kicking it in 1969 with all the other groovy people but the house in which I sit sure was.  1969 was the year this elegant spilt level house was built, with it's blue shag carpeting, patriotic wallpaper, and speckled laminate countertop.  The day we moved in it screamed 1960's and it's still at least whispering it's ode to the decade to this day.  

We decided to fulfill the American dream of being property owners about 5 years ago.  We were one of the many unlucky fools that bought right before the real estate bubble burst, removing the rose colored glasses from many American's eyes.  Back when qualifying for a mortgage was easier than opening a savings account, I was beyond excited about home ownership.   I felt especially lucky since I was making this all important purchase with a guy who could handle most home improvement projects and fix many of the issues I imagined could arise when you owned a piece of the American pie.  

When it came to shopping for a home, I surprised myself.  I am not someone who enjoys shopping.   A trip to the mall is not my idea of a good time.  When I do have to venture out for something specific, I have about a half hour window before I burn out, get a headache, and head for home, even if it's empty handed.  I am also usually VERY indecisive.  In order to make a purchase I have to be in love with the item in question and I still usually need a second (or third, or forth) opinion before taking the long walk to the cash register.  Home buying was strangely different for me.  I really enjoyed looking at houses and picturing the life I might have inside.  I also suddenly had the urge to jump right in and buy every other house we looked at.  For once, my husband was the voice of reason and our real estate agent was fortunately a friend who wasn't just commission hungry.  

Because my husband was ready and able (so he claimed) to fix up whatever house we bought, we focused on those houses which could use some TLC and able hands to spruce them up.  We had visions of a house we could take some personal credit for and one we could make some moolah out of when we went to sell (something we laughably thought would happen in 2-4 years).  We looked at some really beautiful houses in our price range that were already in close to tip-top shape but passed in search of one that was in need of our love and affection (those houses with their updated kitchens and shiny, new siding now haunt my dreams).  

On a rainy day in June we found what we were looking for in a white split level house with blue shutters, sandwiched between two other lovely split levels.  It was sort of like a party for retro houses, except most of the other houses in this affluent town wouldn't be caught dead attending.  But at the time, we didn't see it that way at all.  I at least, saw this house as my little piece of heaven.

I was 25 when I first stepped foot into the house in which I now reside.  The fact that someone was going to let me own a home was unbelievable to me.  I wanted to hurry up and buy before someone took away my adult card, realizing I was just a child playing dress up, sending me back to the kid table.  The fact that we were even looking at a house in this town was unbelievable to me.  In my mind only extremely successful doctors, lawyers, and politicians lived in this coastal community.  I was instantly in love with this humble abode, eagle over the door and all.  To me it looked gigantic, like it could house 10 offspring (which is good since I've come closer to that than I ever imagined).  Instead of being deterred by the blue shag carpeting that covered 75% of the house (even the living room and bathroom was carpeted) and the wall paper with flags, hearts, and huge purple flowers, I pictured the house we would have in a matter of weeks with hard wood and tile floors, and walls painted with clean, conservative colors.  I saw every downside as an adventure and an investment.  I wanted to make an offer that minute, that very second.  A month later we were spending our very first night in our very own 1969 home (every little girl's dream).

Today I see this house a little differently.  Many of the projects that were going to be done that first summer are left unchecked on a disheveled to do list filed away in some  untouched drawer.  It turns out that on most days my husband doesn't want to come home and do more of the work on his own house that he has spent all day doing on someone elses.  While we haven't walked on blue-shag carpet in quite some time, we do still have siding and a deck that have seen much better days (like back in the 70's).  Although I do believe in counting my blessings, as I am driving home I often wish I was pulling into the house across the street or better yet further down the road on the OTHER side of town.  

Today as I write this little blog entry, I wish I had those 25 year old eyes back.  Because the fact of the matter is that we're not going to be building our dream house anytime soon (not with three kids in diapers anyway).  This is our home today, and for the next few hundred at least.  I need to spend more time looking around and feeling blessed to have a house to raise my kids in that we can afford to keep and to heat (although sometimes just barely), and to have a backyard and enough space for my toddler to play.  So the 1969 split level packaging isn't perfect and it isn't what I would choose if I had to choose again, it is what I have and it is the setting of 5 years of some of the best memories of my life.  I remind myself that some people would do backflips to have this house or any house.  And that 25 year old me would probably have done backflips if she could have, upon having our offer accepted all those years ago.  In conclusion, I am working on more happily living my 1969 life and all the blue shutters, pink tiles, and turquoise garages that it comes with.  It is, after all, a fairly wonderful life.